


About A Boy

by pistachioinfernal



Series: Russian Swears and Coffee Spoons [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Burning, Burns, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Violence, Hurt Number Five | The Boy, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Original Character POV, Sick Fic, Side-Character Five, Torture, Whump, Whumptober 2020, no beta we die like ben, recovery fic, the writer has never been to Russia and it shows, trying to shank your heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistachioinfernal/pseuds/pistachioinfernal
Summary: In Russia in 2019, a gangster named Dima is ordered to find a killer child who is assassinating men in his mafia.He does, but that's just the start of his troubles.
Series: Russian Swears and Coffee Spoons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025208
Comments: 49
Kudos: 174
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demi works for the Argon mafia, day in day out. The casual brutality is taking it's toll on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter, non consensual drug use, mentions of child abuse, beatings. I also wasn't completely happy with this chapter, so I re-reworked it a bit in regards to Dima and Five.
> 
> People have asked me 'Are the other Hargreeve sibs in this?' Sorry, not really. They might show up at the end of the story, but for all intents and purposes, they aren't in this.

Dima’s father had been dead for sixteen years.

It was strange to think sometimes, to mark the passage of time that way. He never liked him. He was a bastard with a heavy hand. But still, he missed him.  
He’d died one night, several years ago, murdered, so Gagarin had said, by the Vorys. Dima had been barely more than a boy, no money, no learning. Gagarin had taken him into his care. And taught him their ways, the ways of Argon.

He learned how to kill with a knife, with a gun. He knew how to do it quick, and do it well. He learned how to drink vodka like a man, and how to dress like one. He rose up in the ranks, and earned the praise of his elders.

But always...there was...this emptiness inside. A feeling, like a pit.

It did not matter.

Dima was not as large and threatening as his friend Gregor, but he had perfected a stare that made people shit themselves, or so Ivakin would say. He wore wire rimmed glasses, was dark haired, and slender, and some women found him good looking, even with the scar down the side of his face. He could speak four languages, and was the only one who dealt with Americans, as he was the only one who spoke any English. I learned it from my mother, he would say.

He barely remembers her, only her lessons. A for Apple, B for Bear, and then his father saying one day that ‘your mother is gone.’

And that was that.  
Except for the letters he found under his fathers mattress after he died. Unopened, addressed from ‘Marta.’  
His mothers name.

It did not matter.

He put the letters in a box, and kept them under his bed. He still did not open them.

One day was much the same as another. Dima was given orders, and he carried them out. Dealing with the crates of smuggled guns or goods, intimidating those needing to be frightened, gathering the money they were owed from the local grocers, pimps, and club owners who paid for their protection. So his days went.

On this day, Gagarin was upset. There was someone who was killing their men, hamstringing their organization. The old mobster was more than upset, he was furious.

“[I want you to find that _shluha vokzal’naja!_ ]” he shouts, spittle running down his chin. “[Find him and bring him here, and then, I will put a hurt in him. It will take years for him to die, and he will beg me for sweet release! Go!]”

So Dima and the others had gone, and they had looked.

There were rumours...of a boy who disappeared in a flash of light. A boy who was a demon, a killer midget, a child soldier turned feral...  
He was many things, but mainly, he was death incarnate. Thin, with dark hair, and a schoolboys uniform. Either twelve or twenty years of age. The Argon scoured the city, looking everywhere, but it was Dima who finally found him, by sheer luck

He was in a club, looking for a woman and a drink when he saw him.  
Sitting at the bar by himself. A dark haired boy in a school uniform who scanned the faces of the crowd. Looked far younger than twenty, was somewhere between thirteen and fifteen.

His hair stood on end. It was him, it had to be.

He had to have a plan...he couldn’t take on this boy creature on his own...  
Well...he was at a club.  
He came here often, he knew the darkened corners where people did their business. He made his way casually over to one of them, where a dealer was already speaking with a customer. Once the man had concluded his business, Dima nodded at him.

“[How much for some molly?]”

“[Whaat? Why would you want that, such an outdated thing.]” said the dealer, curling his lip. “[Let me sell you some quality stuff, molly is for grandmothers and tourists.]”

“[Call me old fashioned then.]” said Dima with a shrug.

The dealer, a little put out, rolled his eyes then quoted a price. They bickered good naturedly about the cost, and then Dima gave him the money in exchange for a small packet of pills.

Good. Now the boy.

Dima walked over to where the boy was sitting, putting a smile on his face “[Hello there!]” he said, playing the happy drunk. “[You looking for someone to show you the sights?]”

The boy looked him up and down coolly, then took a drink from the bottle in front of him.

“[Sorry, I’m not into pedophiles.]” he said, voice thick with an American accent.

Dima could feel a hot flush come over him. “[I’m not a boy fucker.]”

“[You’d be amazed how many boy fuckers say that.]” said the boy. “[Now piss off, I don’t want any company.]”

Dima makes an affronted sound, and the boy rolled his eyes. “[Can I at least interest you in a woman? Very good hands, great with virgins.]” he pleaded, becoming now the greedy grifter. “[She’s over there, see? So beautiful!]”

He pointed randomly into the crowd. The boy looked, and Dima palmed one of the pills down the bottle neck.

“[If you’re sister’s so hot, do her yourself.]” said the boy with a sneer as he turned back. “[Now fuck off.]”

Dima grumbled, then walked away.

He kept an eye on the boy, and it wasn’t long before the drug started to affect him. The boy sagged, no longer looking around. He blinked, shook his head, and ran a hand slowly through his hair.

Dima walked over, clapping him on the shoulder with a show of good cheer. “[Ah my friend! Let me help you, you have had too much to drink!]”

The bartender looked up with a frown, unsure if he should intervene. Dima, still smiling, slapped a thick wad of notes onto the bar.

“[Here, the American can’t hold his drink, let me pay for him.]” The bartender nodded, and the money vanished from sight.

Dima lead the boy from the club into the cold night air. It roused him a bit. “Where are we..” he said in a thick voice. “Where are we going?” He spoke in English, and Dima responded in kind.

“To meet my friends of course!”

“Oh..have I met them before?” said the boy, stumbling slightly. Dima caught him, then let him lean against him as they walked.

“Not yet, but you’ll like them I think.”

“Okay..” The boy was as quiet as a lamb as Dima lead him to Gagarins place, a restaurant that has been ‘under renovations’ for some time.

He opened the door. Gagarin and Ivakin are deep in conversation while some of his men stand by, ready if needed. Gagarin looks up with a frown at being interrupted.

“[What is it-]” Gagarin stops when he sees who Dima is with. Dima deposited the boy into a nearby chair, then put both hands on his shoulders, smiling proudly at his boss.

“[This is him. The feral child soldier.]”

Gagarin blinked, then his mouth widened into a grin.

“[This is him? Truly?]”

Dima nodded, a smile on his face as he stepped back.

Gagarin walked over to the boy. “[You have been a lot of trouble little one...]” The boy looked up at him blearily, a puzzled frown on his face.

Without warning, the mobster lashed out, his fist connecting with the boys face with a heavy, meaty sound, knocking him to the ground.

The boy looked stunned, nearly on the verge of crying before his face broke into a snarl.

“[I’m...going..to..]” In trying to rise to his feet, he stumbled and fell back to the floor. The others all laughed, standing up to surround him as the boy shook his head, trying to clear it.

Dima can feel his chest tighten, his fists clenching. Don’t be a fool Dima, what did you think would happen?

Gagarin laughed the loudest, then kicked the boy sharply in the side. The boy cried out, curling in on himself. His boss smiled, slipping on a pair of brass knuckles.

“[You will regret it....for a long, long time.]”

One of the men pulls the boy up by his tie before delivering a stunning blow to his face, which the boy tries and fails to block. He tries once more to get to his feet, and has them kicked out from under him. The boy bared his teeth again, an animal caught in a trap, his eyes frantically searching for an exit, but finding none.

Dima had one more glimpse of the him, shocked green eyes wide, before Gagarin and the rest closed in around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gagarin says 'I want you to find that Shluha vokzal’naja' translation: I want you to find that train station whore.  
> Dima calls Five 'malen'kiy', which means 'little one'.
> 
> When I do [this] with writing, it's just me showing that it's in Russian without translating it again, a quick cheat.
> 
> This fic is gonna be dark, but with a light at the end of the tunnel. It'll probably go about four, five chapters.  
> This is also the first fic I've published in a looong time, so constructive criticism welcome! :)
> 
> Edit: Haha okay, so longer than five, wow.


	2. Act On It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As things get worse for Five, Dima starts to question his loyalties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter, attempted sexual assault, gore, and burning.

Dima had taken the unconscious boy to the kitchen when Gagarin and the men were done delivering their brutal beating. Gagarin instructed that the boy be cuffed to the pipe in the far corner, so that is what Dima did.

He has always been good at following orders.

The boy is a mess. The collar of his shirt is torn and his tie is gone, and there is blood all down the front of his formerly white shirt. The left side of his face is bloody and covered in bruises, and his right arm and his nose are broken. Dima cuffs him by one hand, in a way so that he can lie down...he can give him that at least.  
He does cuff the unbroken arm though, he’s not stupid.

It did not matter.

He starts unloading Gagarins new crates, which will take him a few hours, checking in in the kitchen regularly to see if the boy was waking. Once he saw him beginning to stir, he walked into the kitchen, pulling out a stool to sit down across from him.

The boy slowly sat up, grimacing in pain as he braced himself against the wall, holding his side, wincing at the headache he must surely have from the aftermath of the beating and the drugs. “Shit...still can’t blink...” he muttered, before glaring at him. “Oh look, it’s the boy fucker....”

“Still not a boy fucker.” said Dima. The boy gives him a manic grin.

“Just a kidnapper and a sadist then.”

“I did not harm you.” Dima said, not sure why he feels so compelled to defend himself. 

The boy glared at him with his good eye, then got shakily to his feet, pulling on the shelves next to him to get up. “You drugged me, and then you brought me here for your friends to beat up on.” he hisses.

Dima shrugged. “You have been killing our men...what did you think would happen?”

“I was looking for someone...” said the boy, his eye narrowing as he look away for a moment, frowning.

“You killed a lot of people with your ‘looking’.” said Dima, crossing his arms. He feels the need to remind them both that the boy is no innocent.

The boy looked at him for a moment, consideringly. “I’m Five, Hargreeves.” he finally said. “From America.”

“Every time you open your mouth people know you are American.” said Dima as he rolled his eyes.

“It’s the accent..I know...I worked hard on it, but Vanya was always much better than-” he clamped his mouth shut.

“Vanya? Who is he?” said Dima, curious.

“Someone who...isn’t here.” Five said evasively, closing his eyes as he rolled his head on his shoulders. “So what did you give me? Rohypnol? GHB?”

Dima recoiled. “No! Just...just a little molly.”

The boy laughed, looking up at the ceiling. “Ah wow...Klaus, if you could see me now.” Dima frowned, but Five had already turned back to him. “You work for the Argon gang?” He looked him up and down. “Tell me, do you even remember how many people you’ve killed?”

“I have killed, yes, but only when necessary.” said Dima with some pride.  
Five grinned wolfishly. “ ‘Only when necessary’? You mean only when ordered. And what about how many you injured? Tortured?”

Dima shifted uncomfortably.

“I have never...tortured.” he finally said.

“And what about me?” said the boy, then groaned, leaning back against the kitchen wall.

“Are you all right?” asked Dima, concerned. The boy shot him a glare. “What does it matter if I’m not? Isn’t that kinda the point? I mean, how long have you been working for Gagarin, what, twenty years?”

“Sixteen years. He took me in when I was fourteen.”

Five’s eyes flicked to his face, and away. “Sixteen years....is he your father or something?”

“My father is dead. I would have had no-where to go if not for Gagarin.”

“So anyway, you’ve been working for Gagarin for sixteen years, and you think,” he laughed, then sucked in a pained breath. “You think,” he continued, “that Gagarin will what, hmm?” He mimed putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. “Just, shoot me dead?”

Dima thought back to Gagarins vow ‘ I will put a hurt in him. It will take years for him to die, and he will beg me for sweet release!’ and chewed on his lip.

“Yeah I didn't think so.” said Five.

Dima looked down and away. “You...killed our people.”

“I killed murderers, rapists, and sadists,” Five scoffed. “Don’t expect me to loose any sleep over it.”

Dima was about to retort, when he heard the sound of Gagarins car parking outside. He went back to unloading the guns, and was busy when Gagarin walked in with some of the men.

“[Well well, hello _patsan_!]” said Gagarin, as good humoured as an uncle on Christmas. “[And how are you feeling today?]”

“[Like shit.]” said Five, flatly.

“[Such dirty words!]” Gagarin tutted, pulling off his gloves, prompting a chuckle from the others. Five shot Dima a glance he didn’t understand, then appeared to brace himself for something.

“[Are you a dirty boy, hmm? A dirty child with a dirty mouth?]”

Dimas heart sank in his stomach. Gagarin...can’t mean...he wouldn’t.

Gagarin walked over to Five, putting a hand on his cheek with false tenderness.

“[I wonder little _molokosos_ , if that mouth can suck-]”

He broke out into a shriek as Five turned his head and struck like a viper, biting hard into the soft flesh of the mobsters hand. Gagarin punched and flailed, screaming like a pig, but Five wouldn’t let go, clamping down like a bear with it’s prey. The others had to pull them apart, well... tear them apart really.

Five, now with a few new bruises, swayed on his feet, smiling at them with bloody teeth, looking every inch the feral demon that he had been rumoured to be. He spat the glob of flesh onto the floor, causing a ripple of disgust and alarm through those watching. “[What this mouth can do is bite. Who else wants to try!? _Zhopu porvu margala vikoliu_!]”

Gagarin looked at him eyes wide and staring, breath coming fast. He seeming as scared and fragile as a child himself, and even the hardened soldiers at his back seemed frightened, drawing back from Five with a murmur of alarm. In a moment, their roles seemed reversed. It was Five who was in charge, not Gagarin.

Then Gagarin turned towards him, jerking his head at Five. “[Teach this _tvar govnosos_ a lesson.]”

Dima looked from him to Five, uncertain, feeling the eyes of the other soldiers on him. Gagarin looked at him, eyes narrowed, then snarled.

“[Ah fuck you, Gregor, you do it then!]”

Gregor moved forward, looking at the boy with a smirk. He was a big man, with large hands, the boy barley half his height. Still Five looked at him without fear, clear eyed.  
The man advanced on him, and took out a cigar from his pocket, lighting it as he regarded the child. There was a flicker of apprehension in the boys eyes, then he raised his chin defiantly.

Gregor grabbed hold of Fives jacket with one large hand.  
And then with the other he calmly ground the cigar out on the boys neck.

Dima wanted to turn away, but he didn’t dare. Too many were watching him as well as this...horrid spectacle.  
Five eyes grew wide, and he bit his lip until it bled, but he stayed silent, only hissing out a breath from between his clenched teeth.

Gregor pulled the cigar back, leaving an angry red blister on Fives skin, and Dima for a moment hoped that it might be over.

Then Gregor put the cigar to his lips once more, puffing on it again before grinding it out into childs collar bone, and this time the boy _did_ scream, a sound that seemed to have been ripped from his very soul, and kept on screaming as Gregor continued applying cigar to flesh, a series long drawn out inhuman sounds that seemed to go on and on.  


The kitchen smelled like ashes and burned meat, and Gagarin smiled smugly through the whole thing, nursing his mutilated hand. Even when Five’s throat and legs had given out, Gregor had kept burning him, holding him up so he could do so. And Dima stood there, doing nothing.  
Nothing but watch.

Gregor looked over at Gagarin. “[He’s unconscious...do you want me to keep going?]”

“[No..]” Gagarin shook his head. “[No, I want him awake when he suffers. And he will suffer.]”  
Gregor shrugged, then dropped Five to the floor like a child discarding a doll. The boy fell in a dead weight, breathing shallow breaths.

“[Come, I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.]” Then he turned to Dima. “[Not you Dima. Go home, and wait for me to call on you. We’re going to discuss this little...hesitation of yours today.]”

“[Gagarin-]”

“[ _Poo hoy_ , enough!]” he snarled. “[ Go home!]”

Dima was left alone in the kitchen. He looked at Five, unconscious and bloody on the ground, and then turned and left.

It did not matter.

Dima lay in his bed, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling of his apartment. What would they do to Five tomorrow? What new tortures did they have in store for him?

Dima had always held himself apart from torture. That was something the others did, and certainly, their organization benefited. But he had never....he hadn’t...

He got up from his bed and looked out the window at the busy street. It was a busy night, and the lights of the cars looked pretty in the darkness. It had even started to snow, and the whole world looked like a postcard, like a spun sugar confection.

He paced the floor, back and forth. His foot kicked something, and he frowned, looking down.

The corner of a box peeked out from underneath the bed. Sitting down, he pulled it out.  
His mothers letters.  
He sat looking at it for a time, then opened it. Seven letters, each one marked with a different year.

He picked out the last one, dated 2007, and cut it open.

_Dima,_

_I think this might be my last letter to you. I don’t know if it’s that you’re choosing not to write, or if your father is keeping these letters from you, but I can’t bear not knowing. You’re my child, my little miracle child. I miss you every day darling.  
I haven’t said yet what happened, how we became parted, but I am finally brave enough to tell you the truth. I didn’t want to leave you. I have tried, so so hard to get back to you, I promise I have, but so far, I haven’t been able to. Your father was..a difficult man at times. I hope he was not so with you.  
My dear sweet boy, my Dima, I love you so much I feel that my heart will break. You are such a clever, happy child, so full of love and wonder. I hope I will have the chance to see you grow up, to see the wonderful and amazing things you will do. You have a good kind heart my Dima, my love. Act on it, and you will never go wrong._

_Your mother, always, and with love.  
Marta._

Your mother, always and with love....  
He sat there, gripping the letter in his hands.  
You have a good heart...

He stood and started packing. Three pairs of trousers, socks. Three shirts, underwear. A book, a toothbrush and paste, and his first aid kit. He was about to leave, then he hesitated. The box of letters was still on his bed. He grabbed them out of the box, stuffed them into his bag, and left.

Dima arrived in his truck in the early hours of the morning, parking at back at the restaurant by the kitchen entrance. The door was unlocked, and carefully, he crept into the un-lit kitchen, looking around. He nearly shit himself when he saw Gregor sitting in the corner, but thankfully, the man was fast asleep, slumped forwards on a stool.  
He looked back in the corner, and his heart twisted inside him. Five was either unconscious or asleep, curled up on himself on the floor of the kitchen. He was so small, so fragile looking. Dima found the key to the handcuffs, and got to work unlocking them, then slowly crouched down to gently shake his shoulder.

“Five, Five?”

He found himself suddenly with a butter knife pointed at his eye. “So...Dima...it's Dima...right?...It’d take quite a bit....of force to cut your throat...with this,” said the boy in rasping whisper. “But even with...one good arm, I think I could manage...driving it through your eye into your brain, what there is of it.”

“I wouldn’t recommend killing me.” said Dima quietly. “And why...is that?” said Five, his voice horse and raw.

“Because I’m here to take you away. To safety.”

Five regarded him in the dim light. “Why should I...trust you?”

“You have no reason to do so.” said Dima, with a shrug more casual then he felt. “But you could always kill me and leave.”

Five flicked his eyes to his uncuffed hand, then back to Dima.

“You didn’t notice?”

“Of course I noticed, I was just...getting to that.”

“Good. Can you stand?”

Five looked at him one moment longer, then pocketed the butterknife. He nodded. “Lead the way.”

They both got to their feet, only for Five to stumble.

“Let me help you.” said Dima.

“I don’t need your help.” said Five, pushing him away, only to falter again. Dima caught him.

“As you say _malenkyi_.”

“Don’t call me that.” Five muttered as Dima helped him to the truck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian for this chapter:
> 
> Govnosos tvar - shit sucking creature  
> Patsan - boy, lad  
> Molokosos - underage boy/milk sucker  
> Govnosos - shit sucker  
> Po hooy! - Don't fucking care.  
> Zhopu porvu margala vikoliu - I’ll rip your ass and poke out your eyes. Not an idle threat coming from Five.  
> malen'kiy - little one. I was actually inspired to write this after rewatching TUA and also this [ASMR video about a Russian gangster who protects you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tcPP3NKWi8). The two melded together in my brain, and this is the result.
> 
> “Vanya? Who is he?”- So when looking up stuff about the Umbrella Academy names, I found out that in Russia, Vanya is actually a boys name, so you can excuse Dima for making that mistake. Why did Grace call Vanya that if it’s a boys name? (shrug). The ways of robot moms are not for us mere mortals to understand.


	3. Road To Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dima escapes from the city with the gravely wounded Five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter, implied child abuse, blood, setting bones, discussion of torture.  
> (if anyone needs me to add more tags or warnings, please let me know.)

They had been driving for two hours our of the city, and the paved roads and buildings gave way to dirt and trees, mixing with the snow so that he looked like they travelled on a chocolate road. Thinking that, Dima had to admit he was getting hungry, and the old takeout bags on the floor weren’t helping. He’d kept meaning to clean things up in here, but there was always something else.

Five was sitting in the passenger seat, dozing fitfully, when he woke with a start, wide eyed, a knife appearing in his hand from somewhere. Not the butter knife either, a black wicked looking thing.

“ _Vse v poryadke_ do not worry, you are still safe.” said Dima soothingly, flicking his eyes between the road and the boy.

Five nodded shakily, the knife still out. Dima squinted at him. “Is that mine?”

The boy shrugged. “Might be.” he rasped in reply, turning so his good eye was facing Dima.

“Looks very much like mine.”

He gave him a small smile. “I lifted it off you when you were helping me to the truck.”

Dima blinked. He hadn’t even noticed. “Huh. Nice trick _vseznayka_.”

Five made the knife disappear to wherever he’d hidden it, then tucked his hands under his arms, huddling in around himself.

Dima frowned. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing..it’s just...I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Aside from that, I’m fine.” he snapped.

Dima, one arm at a time, peeled off his winter coat as he drove, and then draped it over the boy.

“What’re you doing?” said Five. Dima shrugged “You’re tired, you’re cold, and you’re hurt. Just take it.”

“...Thanks.”

Dima nodded “ _Pustikee_ , you are welcome.” Inwardly, he cursed himself for not bringing a coat for the boy, and for wearing a short sleeved shirt when he’d left the apartment. But _vse ravno_ , it was done.

“You hungry?”  
Five shook his head no. Dima nodded in return. A little hunger, he could handle. They’d stop for food later.

Five looked at him. “So where are we headed?”

Dima frowned. “You shouldn’t talk, your throat is...bad.”

“Yeah...torture’ll do that.” said Five wryly.

He looked out the window, watching the trees going by. “He broke me.” he said quietly, matter of fact. “No matter what happened to me, I always thought...that..” he trailed off.

Dima breathed out. Being broken...it would scar a man, let alone a boy. He hoped it would not happen to Five, for him to survive everything else, only for that to haunt him.

Dima shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “No shame. Everyone breaks eventually.”

“Not. Me.” said the boy. “Not ever...until now.”

Dima didn’t know what to say to that, thinking for a moment.

“....How old are you?”

“Older than I look.” said Five in a ‘none of your business’ sort of a way. Dima drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, considering his next words.

“Burns cause more pain than any sort of hurt.” he said finally. “You already had shit kicked out of you, you were drugged...you were not at your best.”

“Which is your fault.”

Dima winced, then nodded. “ _Da_ , it is. I am sorry.”

His eyes flicked to a road sign. Finland 280 km.

Good. They were far enough away that he could see to Five’s wounds.

“Okay, now, we stop.” said Dima, pulling over on the shoulder and putting the brakes on

Five looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

Dima shrugged. “I need to patch you up.”

“We’re better off-” he coughed, cleared his throat, and continued. “Off not stopping, we don’t want Argon to catch up with us.”

“ _Malenkyi_ , there is no need to be afraid-”

“I’m not. Afraid.” he bit out.

“Of course not.” said Dima smoothly. “But you still need to be fixed up. Cigar burns especially can fester, become infected.”

Five narrowed his eyes at him, then suddenly reached over and pushed up the edge of his shirt sleeve.  
Dima froze, cursing himself, short sleeved shirts, and inquisitive boys.  
He knew what Five was looking at, three circular burns grouped together, high up on his arm.  
He pulled away, glaring at Five, daring him to say something.

Five, thank God, did not.

Dima took off his seat-belt, pulled out the first aid kit, then hesitated.

“What?”

“I ah, I need for you to take off your shirt. To see to the wounds.” He does not want to make the boy uncomfortable, but it must be done, regardless.

Five said nothing for a moment, then sighed wearily. “No.”

“But-”

“ **No**.” he said, the force of it causing him to break into a coughing fit. “Give me the kit, I can handle it.”

“Even your arm?”

“I’ll manage.”

Dima lost his patience. “And your nose _balvan_ , you can do that with one hand too?”

Five just glared at him. “I can do this _myself_. Now get out before I stab you to death with your own fucking knife, I’ll knock on the window when I’m done.”

Dima got out. It’s fucking cold without his jacket, but if he walks up and down, he’s warm enough. After what seems like a very long time, there’s a knock on the window.

He climbed back in, grateful for the warmth. The burns on Fives neck and collarbone are covered in aloe gel and gauze, and there’s a bandage over his left eye as well. The whole cab smells like the inside of a pharmacy. Five looked at him, then away.

“You were right. About the arm. And the nose.”

He turned back with an aggrieved sigh. “I’m going to need your help.”

“I will be gracious, and not say ‘I told you so’.” said Dima, giving him the hint of a smug smile.

“Oh well you’re a real class act.” said Five sarcastically. 

“So which one first, nose or arm?”

“Nose, then the arm.” said Five.

They stuffed his nose with cotton gauze, then Dima counted down to three, before twisting the nose to the side. Five let out a muffled groan, throwing his head back with a curse, then taking a deep breath. He pulled out the gauze, and threw it in an old Burger King bag.

“Now the arm.” He was sweating and shaking, but still insistent.

“Don’t you need to-”

“The arm, let’s get this over with.” Five said, impatiently. Dima sighed, tsking.

“Such a demanding little thing...do you want pain-killer? Alcohol?”

Five’s gaze sharpened. “I don’t think so.”

Dima flashes back to to the day he kidnapped Five, drugging his drink.

“Ah...of course. Sorry.”

Five pulled off the schoolboy coat with an agonized slowness, obviously to avoiding jarring his arm. Dima bit his lip, but did not offer to help again. Using his teeth and his good hand, Five then ripped open the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a mass of purple and black bruises and an arm that was alarmingly crooked. Dima gently took his wrist, and touched one of the more bruised parts, wincing at the heat radiating off of it. Then he feels Five shaking, and looked up.  
The boy is wide eyes, looking as if he is torn between anger and panic.

“ _Malenkyi_ , what is the matter?” Dima said, concerned.  
“Can you...can you let go?” said Five, shutting his eyes tightly, looking as if he might vomit. Dima does so, lifting up his hands as if surrendering.

“Get in your seat. As far away from me as you can.” He did.  
Five went from shaking and acting like he was going to stab him, to simply looking alert and bad tempered. He turned to look out the front window, eyes straight ahead.

There is silence for several long minutes.

“If you touch me,” Five said finally, not looking at him. “I need you to do it slowly. Nothing sudden, okay?”

“ _Da_ , got it _malenkyi_.” said Dima, nodding. There’s silence between them as Dima waits, looking out the window at the snow, and the trees.

“Okay,” Five coughs. “Okay, we can do this now. Slowly.”

Dima makes his way over to Fives seat as slowly and carefully as possible. Five folded the arm of his coat into a pad, and shoved it in his mouth.

“You look ridiculous.” said Dima.

Five just rolled his eyes. “Okay, brace” said Dima. “On four, all right? _Odin, dva_ -”

He snapped the bone back into place with a sickening crunch, and Five _howled_ , a full throated sobbing scream. It made Dimas hair stand on end, reminds him far too much of Gregor burning him back in the kitchen.

Five weakly spat the sleeve out of his mouth. “...asshole.” he whispered before passing out.

Dima feels bad for that, for causing him more pain, but he is practical. He splints and bandages the bad arm, then pulls the ruined schoolboy coat back on as carefully as he can. Buckled him in, and covered him up with the coat again.

They have gone maybe 10 kilometres when Five stirred, waking. He coughed, then coughed again, and then he couldn’t stop coughing. Not even a regular cough, it is a series of alarming wet, tearing sounds.

“Five? Five!”

The boy coughed again and _blood_ splattered over the dashboard. Dima pulled over, cursing, then got out, running over to the passenger side.

“Five?!”

He opened the door, to see Five struggling to breathe, dripping with sweat.

“ _Chyort voz’mi!_ ” he swore. He checked his pulse, and it was far too fast, like a rabbits, skin far too hot. Carefully, he pushed the boy back into his seat, then ran back around to the drivers seat.

They were getting so close to the border....but Five needed more than a first aid kit.

Dima took in a deep breath, then let it out.

Fine. It was time for that detour he’d been considering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian for this chapter:
> 
> Vse v poryadke - all is well  
> Vseznayka - smart alec/wiseguy  
> Balvan- Thick headed fool  
> Vse ravno -All the same, no matter  
> Pustikee - Not at all, a trifle  
> Chyort voz’mi! - Damn it, oh shit!  
> malen'kiy - little one  
> Da -Yes
> 
> Dimas 'wicked looking knife' is this one,  
> https://russianknives.com/collections/kizlyar-supreme-knives/products/feldjaeger-russian-military-knife-kizlyar-supreme.  
> It was going to be a KA-BAR knife, but then I realised a Russian one would be more appropriate.
> 
> Poor Five! I promise things will get better for him next chapter!


	4. Who and Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Five getting worse and worse, Dima finds an ally to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw for this chapter, blood and surgery (but it's very brief)
> 
> I also re-wrote the first chapter a bit, so if you've bee following this for a while, feel free to check it out again :)

It was late afternoon when he finally arrived by the simple, clear sign by the road, ‘Doctor M. Wakefield.’ Five had been in and out of consciousness, coughing up more blood and generally seeming worse and worse as time went by.  
Without rescuing his now soiled winter jacket, Dima walked through the snow to the front door, ignoring the bite of winter air on his bare arms. He knocked loudly, then knocked again. Then a little louder.

“[What, who is it?]” A womans voice, with only a slight English accent. There was the sound of footsteps, then the door opened. A woman in her late fourties stood there, blond hair done up in a messy bun, faded blue eyes and a mouth made for laughter, though at the moment it was turned downwards in a frown.

“[What on earth? Why are you standing on my doorstep in the cold like this? You should come back during regular hours.]”

“Please, Dr. Wakefield, my friend, he is not well. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but he started coughing up blood-”  
Wakefield went from disgruntled to alert in seconds.

“What?! Take me to him now!” 

Dima lead her to the truck and opened the door for her. Wakefield looked Five up and down, then put the back of her hand to his forehead.

“Christ he’s burning up..all right, let’s get him inside. Get him out of here, carefully mind!”

Dima does so, trying to ignore how heavy Five feels....dead weight. Like a corpse.

 _Nyet, nyet_ , focus on the now, on what you can do to help.

Wakefield shut the door behind him. “I’d ordinarily ask you to take your boots off, but there’s no time, come on.”

He appreciates her manner. She is calm, business like, and utterly composed. No panicking or useless questions, just right to the heart of the problem.

Five choose this moment to rouse. “What happened?” he said, voice nothing more than a harsh whisper.

“You coughed up a lot of blood... internal bleeding, I think.”

“Well....shit.”

“Is allright _malenkyi_ , I have brought you to doctor, she will fix you up _v polnom poryadke_ , you’ll see.”

Doctor Wakefield turned around and walked over so that Five could see her with his good eye, smiling reassuringly.

“Hello there, I’m Doctor Wakefield. You’re at my office, well, it’s also my home, but I’m here to help, to make you all better.”

Five chuckled. “Nice to...meet you.” he said, before loosing consciousness again.

“Put him here, on the bed.” said the doctor, gesturing to it in the middle of a round room, full of cabinets and equipment.

Dima does so, and the doctor sets about cleaning up Five, getting the bloody coat off of him.

As soon as she sees his schoolboy outfit though, her manner changes from worry to righteous anger.

“What is this?” she said, glaring at him. “Is this some sort of..sick sex game gone wrong?!”

She snatched up a scalpel from a tray and advanced on him. “You have some nerve coming here after what you did, you pedo piece of shit!”

Dima held up his hands, guts churning. It is all going so very wrong, so quickly. He could disarm her easily, but it would only scare her, or hurt her, and he does not want to do either.

“No, wait, I can explain, wait!”

Wakefield narrowed her eyes, but stayed where she was. “I didn’t, I didn’t hurt him...I took him away from where he was being hurt.”

Inspiration comes to him, and he rolls up his sleeve, exposing the cigar burns on his arm.

“I know what it is, to be young and helpless. Believe me, I did not do this to him.”

_I only watched as it was done._

Wakefield regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “All right. Put on a gown and wash up, I’m going to need your help. Thirty seconds mind, with soap!”

“ _Da_ , yes.”

The surgery is...difficult. Not for Five, but for Dima, who does not like seeing him so still, so helpless.  


Wakefield finds many things wrong with Five, bruising, concussion, infection from the broken arm and the burns, two broken ribs, ruptured vocal chords, a punctured lung filling with blood so that he was drowning in it. He holds what she needs, hands her her tools, helps her bandage, but he feels sick inside. He should have pressed him more to accept his help, should have driven here right away. Five could have died. He feels his hands shaking at the thought, and takes a breath to steady them. Five could have _died_.

It is late at night when Wakefield finishes sewing and bandaging. “All right, now we just...clean him up and put him in clean clothes. He’ll sleep for quite sometime, if the painkillers do their job.”

“Doctor...thank you, for all your help.”

The Doctor gives him a measuring look. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m going to need you to stay up and explain to me _exactly_ what happened.”  
Dima feels more than a little apprehensive at the thought.

Once Five is in a clean set of pajamas (the doctors, white with pugs on them, Dima can only imagine his reaction on awaking), Dima and she retire to her living room.

It is..not like his apartment. That had been sterile and sparse, a bed, a television and computer, and a chair.

This is nothing like that. It is a home. A wood burning stove to the side, small, but warm. Tiny colourful paintings the size of postcards above the windows, and thick, rust coloured curtains bracketing them. A dark grey sofa, with a cream knitted blanket slung over it. The walls themselves are comforting, rounded curing up and away in graceful arcs, made of something that seems to be a mix of porcelain and plaster.

Wakefield has made tea in the kitchen, and returns with his mug.

“Sugar? Milk?”

“Ah, none, thank you.”

She nodded, and sat down in the chair opposite him, holding the mug in both hands.

“Who was torturing him, and why.” she asked, looking him in the eye.

Dima does not ask how she knows. Only a very stupid doctor would not have understood Fives wounds. He looked down at the carpet. It is very soft, and a light blue colour, like an afternoon sky. Part of him wishes he could sink into it and fly far far away rather than answer this womans pointed questions.

“....He was,” Dima cleared his throat, taking a sip of tea. “He...the mafia wanted him dead. He had...crossed them. Humiliated them. So they kidnapped him.”

_I kidnapped him._

“They beat him, tortured him....I...knew he was there. I snuck in at night, freed him, and we started for the border.”

Wakefield nodded. “And I was, what. Just on your way there?” She made a vague gesture with her hands.

“I...yes.”

She hmmmed.

“This house is fifty kilometres in the other direction from the Finnish border. Why here? Surely there must be other doctors.”

Dima frowned, considering what to tell her.

“Before I left the city,” he began slowly. “I made...inquires. Discrete. I knew that you had no love for the Argon mafia.”

As he spoke, Wakefields whole body language changed.  
No longer was she the shrewd, determined doctor, ferreting out answers. She had shrunk in on herself, pulled her wrap-around sweater closer to her heart, clenching her hands around her arms.  
“Argon...haven’t heard that name in a while.” she said, letting out a shaking breath.

“They will not follow us here.” Dima rushed to assure her. “There was nothing to connect us

Wakefield nodded, seeming to relax a little. “And you said...you knew he was there?”

“ _Da_ , yes.”

“How? How did you know?”

He took a deep breath. “I was one of them, _soldat_ but... I could not stay, not after I saw what they did.”

“ Let me get this right...you were part of the mafia that tortured a little boy?”

That sharpness was back with a vengeance.

“...Yes.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police and have your sorry arse taken to the local lock up.” she said with a razor like calm.

Dima drummed his fingers on the side of his mug, not looking at her.

“I have none.”

“That’s it?” she said in disbelief. “ ‘I have none’. You honestly have nothing else to say??”

“I brought him here,” he said. “Because I knew you have no love in your heart for Argon. That you would hide him, keep him safe.”

He stood. “Thank you for the tea, I will go now.”

He walked to to door, heart heavy. There was no where for him to go now. If he returned, he would be killed. Perhaps he would drive across the Finnish border and turn himself in to the police. Maybe they can use his testimony to arrest Gagarin.

“Oh for gods sake!”

He turned, confused. Wakefield is standing, exasperated, hands on her hips. “Honestly, I’ve seen drowned rats happier. Come on.”

“ _Ne ponimayu_?”

“You’re staying. God help me, I must have the worlds biggest heart or be the worlds biggest fool, but you can have the guest room.”

“ _Blagodaryu vas_ doctor.”

“Save your thank yous, I’m putting you to work first thing tomorrow. You want to stay at my house, you pull your own weight.”

“Yes doctor.”

“You can save your ‘yes doctors’ too. And stop that grinning, it makes you looks smug.” she said, without any real malice.

“Yes doctor.” he answered, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian for this chapter:
> 
> Nyet -No  
> malen'kiy-little one  
> v polnom poryadke-right as nails, as right as a trivet  
> soldat- soldier  
> Ne ponimayu - I don't understand  
> blagodaryu vas -thank you, I'm very much obliged to you
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but hey, it is what it is.


	5. Helping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Five is patched up, Dima and Wakefield talk about what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for the chapter for discussion of attempted sexual assault, blood, nightmares, and PTSD.

_He opens his eyes.  
Blood, so much of it. So much.  
All of it Fives. From his side. From his mouth.  
Five is  
Five is  
Five is laying on the ground, his mouth open in a silent scream.  
He is standing over him. His father.  
His father has  
His father has  
His father has Five’s arm  
twisted behind him.  
With  
a  
snap  
he  
breaks  
it._  


“ _Nyet!_ ”

Dima is reaching for nothing but a bedroom wall. He turns over, rubbing his forehead.  
Just a nightmare.  
He is in the guest room, which is all in yellow. Sheets, pillows, carpet, and walls, all sunflower coloured.

He checked his watch. 05:30...may as well get up. He dresses in some clean clothes from his pack, then pads on bare feet out into the hallway, and then the kitchen.

He opened the fridge, looking for eggs, bacon. _Otmennyy_ , there they were on the first shelf.

Some more searching and he found a skillet and some butter. Letting the butter melt, he then set to beating the eggs, and poured them into the hot pan.  
A little salt, pepper, and then whisk. He set them aside, then made the bacon.

“Smells good!” He saw Wakefield walking into the kitchen in her robe, still sleepy eyed.

“ _Prosti_ , I did not mean to wake you.” 

She waved his excuse away. “Never mind, I’ll count myself lucky. Can’t remember the last time someone made _me_ breakfast.”

“My pleasure.”

They eat in silence for a while, too consumed by morning hunger to do otherwise.

“So,” Wakefield said after they’ve eaten most of the eggs, and all the bacon. “I, hmm...actually it occurs to me I don’t know your name.”

“Dima.”

“Dima...just one name? Like ‘Cher’ or ‘Batman’?” she said, teasing.

He smiled in return, ducking his eyes.

“Dima....I want you to know....I did a rape kit on him.”

Dimas blood froze, the food turning to nothing more than mush on his tongue . “Hey, hey relax,” she smiled softly at him, taking his hand. “It came up negative.”

“ _Slava Bogu_ that he was spared that at least.” said Dima, scrubbing his other hand over his face. He had been relatively certain, but did not dare to ask.

“He’s doing much better this morning. When you brought him in he was in a bad way, but if he takes it easy, he should be fine.”

Wakefield looked lost in thought. “There’s still so much I don’t know...what’s his name? Where are his parents? Why is Argon looking for him?”

“Ah, yes... details....” said Dima awkwardly, pulling his hand back.

“I do not know his parents, or where his parents are. Argon is looking for him because...he killed a lot of our, ah, their soldiers.”

Wakefield stared at him. “He what?”

“Killed them.”

“But...he’s just a _kid_.”

Dima shrugged. “That is so, but we had a description of the killer, it was him. Many witnesses.”

Wakefield sat back, her eyes widening. “Shit.” she breathed. “You wouldn’t think it to look at him, such a little scrap of a thing.”

“ _Da_ , but he is..um...like a _norka_ , small but fierce.”

“Well that’s a lot.” said Wakefield, running a hand through her hair. “Oh, you still haven’t told me his name.”

“Ah..Five Hargreeves he said.”

“His name is _Five_.” she said in disbelief. 

Dima nodded. “So he has said. Still, Americans name their children ‘Apple’, yes? Not too strange.”

“Most people don’t name their children after numbers...maybe he was part of a cult?”

“ _Nyet_ , I do not think so.”

“But it would explain a lot...the killing, his name. He could have been brainwashed to do it.”

Dima tapped the table, considering it. “It is good thought, but does not feel quite right...Is he awake yet?”

Wakefield shook her head. “Not yet. I checked in on him before I came in here, still dead to the world.”

“Can I see him?”

She nodded. “I suppose so.”

Dima walked slowly into the office. Five had been moved from the operating bed/table, and was on a cot to the side. The red bruises had settled to more alarming black and purple ones, especially his visible right eye, and his right arm was in a cast. He pulled up a chair and sat down.

“Hello _malen'kyi_.”

He looked down at him. It was the first time he had seen Five unconscious but without pain. He looked...quite peaceful. Gently, he took the hand that was in the cast.

“I hope you do not mind, me bringing you here. You were... _deystvitel'no oblazhalsya_ , I thought you would die.”

He paused. “I know I do not have the right to ask...but I wish to stay. To keep you safe. It is...least I can do.”

He felt rather than saw Wakefield in the door. “When he wakes up, we have to make sure that he doesn’t speak.” she said. “His vocal chords need to rest. He can write though.”

He looked glared at her. “ _Kak_? They broke his right arm.”  
“It's his arm that's broken, not the hand. It'll be good physical therapy for him, it’ll help exercise the muscles. And maybe he's left handed?”

Dima looked back at Five. “Will he be all right?”

Wakefield shrugged, looking a little sad. “Torture recovery can be difficult. The survivor feels betrayed by the pain of their body, and tries to retreat from it, to shut down or deny what they’re feeling physically, even after it all happens.”

She walked over to stand next to Fives bed. “All we can do is be here, and hope that we can help.”

Dima nodded, considering. “I want to ask you question. There was...hmm....in the truck. I helped him to set his nose-”

“Not a bad job of it, considering.”

“But when I went to help him set his arm...he...ah...became scared. Wanted me away from him.”

“Sounds like something triggered a flashback. We’ll have to be patient. Certain situations, objects, smells, sounds, even times of day could convince his mind that he’s back where he was with the pain.”

Dima flinched, then nodded. It was then he felt Fives hand twitch in his. "I think he is waking.”

Wakefield leaned over Five, watching him intently before retreating slightly.

“I know you’re trying to be comforting, but be prepared that he may not want you holding his hand. You may have to let go.”

Dima nodded as Five’s eyelids flickered as they backed away. Five opened his eyes, looking confused. He lifted his right arm, looking at it. His breath sped up, his eyes widened.

“Five? Five, hi there. I’m Doctor Wakefield, do you remember me?”

Five turned his head with a jerk, then nodded slowly, his eyes flicking from her to Dima.  
“This is Dima...do you remember him?”

Five nodded again.

“Listen, you shouldn’t talk. You ruptured your vocal chords. I’ve got a notepad here for you, or we can use American Sign Language if you know any.” she said.

Five pointed to the notepad, then once he had it, he wrote. I KNOW A LITTLE. LEARNED IT WHEN I WAS A KID.

“Excellent." Wakefield smiled warmly. "I’m a little rusty, but I’m sure between that and the notepad, we’ll get by. I'm starting you on anti-biotics and painkillers, I'll keep some of them here," she pointed to a side table near the bed with two small containers. "Is there anything you need? You should probably eat something...”

NO. TIRED. WOULD LIKE TO REST. ALONE.

“All right. The bathroom’s over there, and a clean pair of pajamas as well, though they aren’t in your size, I know. I’ve also brought out some books if you want to read later.”

The doctor nodded to the door, and they both left the room.

“Well...that went fairly well. He knew where he was, recognized us...that’s a good sign.”

“So when will he be better?”

Wakefield sighed. “Dima...he’ll never be fully better. Even when he’s recovered physically, mentally, emotionally...it’s another story.”

She crossed her arms. “When someone goes through trauma like this...there’s a very good chance of them developing PTSD, especially with injuries that take time to heal.”

“I will help him, however I can.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You’re very loyal.” she said slowly. “Is there anything more about what happened that you’re not telling me?”

Dima huffed out a breath. “As I have said, I know what it is like. When I was a boy...there was no-one to help me. But I can help him.”

Not all the truth, but some of it.

She nodded. “Good. One of the things we can do for him is make sure he has privacy. Always knock before entering a room he’s in, as his permission to touch him. Later when he's better, if you want to include him in something, like grocery shopping or a walk, let him know far in advance.”

“Of course.”

“So we’ll leave him alone for now, I’ll check in on him around lunchtime. Meanwhile, I have some firewood that needs chopping, and you’re just the man for the job I think.”

“I have no coat.”

“Hm...Well, I have some oversized sweaters that will do for now..but we’ll have to see about getting both of you clothes for your stay.”

Dima had finished the firewood, and was quite tired and hungry. Ravenous in fact. He was ready for lunch and a nap. He could feel sweat running down the back of his neck, muscles sore from effort. And he was quite exhausted.  
Still, it had felt good to be doing something less...violent. Doing good, honest work.

He was heading inside when Wakefield opened the door, running out to him.

“Dima! Dima, I can’t find Five!”

It was if a bucket of ice water had been dropped on him.

“ _Yebat' menya_! You have already checked the bedrooms?”

“Yes, I’ve looked everywhere!”

There was the sound of a car starting up.

“He wouldn’t...not in his condition-” said Wakefield, eyes widening.

“That _kretin_? He would.” said Dima grimly. “Stay here!”

He ran out to the front. His truck was backing out of the drive and he ran towards it.

“Stop! Stop!” he said, hand outstretched.

The truck came to a stop. He ran up to the driver side, and opened the door.  
Five was indeed in the drivers seat. He did not look well. He had stolen Doctor Wakefields coat it seemed, along with some gloves and a hat, but it was clear that the effort had cost him. He was drenched in sweat, and his hands were shaking, which concerned Dima considering the boy was pointing his own gun at him.

“ _Bozhe moy_ , you have a habit of taking my things.”

In response, Five cocked the gun safety off. Dima made a frustrated sound.

“What are you going to do, hmm? Just...leave? By yourself?”

Five held up his notepad. YES.

“Well that is great plan.” he said sarcastically. “Top notch.”

Five just tapped the YES again.

“Five...you are hurt, you can barely hold up the gun. Stay, stay and get well.”

Five scribbled in the notepad with his free hand, then held it up. WHY WOULD I STAY HERE? YOU’RE THE REASON I’M LIKE THIS.

Guilt threatened to choke him, but he pushed it away.

“Okay, yes, yes I am, but I can leave, I can leave Five, stay, stay and get better.”

NO.

“Five, please, please.” he begged. A vision appeared in his head, Five bleeding out because he pushed himself too hard, Five dying...No.

The boy put the gun to Dimas forehead, teeth bared in a grimace.The man held up his hands.

“Okay, okay, shoot me if you have to Five, I know, I know. I deserve it.”

He shut his eyes...only to hear Five let out a weary sigh. The pressure of the gun barrel disappeared, and there was the sound of the safety being cocked back into place. He opened his eyes to see Five putting the gun down on the seat, shaking his head. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

IDIOT. STUBBORN, he wrote.

“Look who’s talking. Five...why are you leaving?”

CAN’T STAY.

“Why?”

He tapped it again.

“Oh? Do you have doctor in your pocket to take care of you?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

Five stared ahead for a moment, then wrote.

USELESS.

Dima looked at the notepad, puzzled.

I’M USELESS.

“Why do you say this?”

 ~~I’M BROKEN~~. I CAN’T HELP. A LIABILITY.

“Going will not solve your problems Five. Just make new ones.”

IF I STAY AND ARGON FINDS ME, I WON’T BE ABLE TO ~~PROTECT~~ HELP.

“Worry about that another day.”

Five seemed to be thinking that through. Finally, he sighed tiredly, and turned off the ignition.

“Okay, let us go inside before Wakefield thinks we freeze to death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian for this chapter:
> 
> otmennyy-excellent, right on  
> Pustikee - Not at all, a trifle  
> prosti - sorry  
> Slava Bogu-Thank God/Thank Heaven  
> norka - a mink  
> deystvitel'no oblazhalsya - Really fucked up  
> malen'kiy- little one  
> Kak- How  
> Yebat' menya- Fuck me  
> kretin-cretin, dumbhead, lardhead  
> Yebena mat'!-I'll be damned!
> 
> I hope this chapter is okay, I'm really tired, and there might be some mistakes. I'll try to update this every other day in the morning (EST) so the next update should be this Friday (November 6th).
> 
> If you're reading this, thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far! :) If you like it, please comment, even if it's something short, it really gives me a boost. <3


	6. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a  
> king of infinite space—were it not that I have bad dreams.  
> -Hamlet

Once Wakefield had determined that Five and he were relatively all-right, she delivered a scolding as severe as any he’d had in his life. She swore at them both (Dima thought it was unfair he was included) in three languages, including a forth he did not recognise, even as she checked Five over. The gauze on his burns had rubbed off, and he was developing a full infection.

“God,” Wakefield sighed, as they finally got Five settled for sleep after two hours of angry notes and compromises. “I haven’t had so much trouble with a child in, well....since I was a new mum.” She sat down at the kitchen table.  
Dima nodded. “Five is like that.”

“And now he’s got a fever and an full blown infection, Christ...you’re each as bad as the other.” she said wearily.

“Was not my idea for him to leave!” Dima protested. Wakefield slapped her hand down on the table.

“But that gun was yours! And you left it where he could find it!”

“ _Yebat' menya_ , I cannot be in all places!”

The two of them glared at each other for a long moment.

“All right...” said Wakefield finally. “From now on, the gun is not in the house. I’m sure you saw the shed out back when you were cutting up the wood. Empty the toolbox, then lock it in there and put it on the top shelf.”

“That is...overkill.”

“I will _not_ have guns in this house, especially if a boy in my care already stole it!”

Dima sighed. “Fine. I will do this.”

Wakefield nodded. “Good, glad we got this resolved.”

“You mentioned getting some clothes for me and Five.” said Dima, changing the subject. He filled the kettle with tap water, then set it to boil while he got out two mugs. “It would be good idea if you did not go to a store. Do you have friends you can get some from?”

Wakefield frowned. “But why?”

“If I was looking for people not wanting to be found, I would look for someone buying clothes for a young boy and a man...especially someone who lives alone, supposedly.”

She nodded. “That’s...a good point actually.”

“Tell your friends that you are gathering clothes for Church, for the homeless.”

“That’ll work, though it’s been years since I’ve been to church. I have friends who go though....I say one of them guilted me into the donating, it’s practically true.”

She sat down at the table with a sigh, head in her hands. “What am I doing? I left the city years ago, so I wouldn’t have to deal with this fucking mafia nonsense...and it’s found me all the same.”

“I am sorry.”

Wakefield sighed. “I know.”

“I am truly thankful for all your help.”

“I know...”

The kettle whistled, and he moved to fill the pot, dropping three tea bags in.

“I’m not angry, not really,” continued Wakefield. “I’m more...scared. He just took off without warning, and we didn’t even notice until it was nearly too late!”

Dima hummed in thought. “He does not like being so...helpless I think. He is someone who values his voice, his freedom. His wounds take that away from him.”

“Listen to you!” said Wakefield, smiling at him. “I’m impressed! You should turn therapist after this is all over.”

Dima felt himself blushing, and quickly moved to fill the mugs. After putting milk in hers, he sat at the table.

“You make a good point,” said Wakefield as she picked up the mug, cradling it in her hands. “Well as I said, I can start studying my ASL again, so at least he can talk to me... you should try it too.”

“ _Spasibo_ , I’m too old to learn new things.”

Wakefield smiled at him, taking a sip of her tea. “Oh come on, you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Perhaps. But I will stick to writing English instead.”

“Fair enough,” Wakefield stood and stretched, yawning. “I’m going to turn in early I think, I’m just about knackered. Feel free to use the TV you like, or there’s the bookshelves in the living room of course. Thanks for the tea.” she said, toasting him with her mug.

“ _Pustikee_.”

“Goodnight.” she said, waving as she walked down the hallway.

“Goodnight Doctor.”

After rinsing out his cup and the pot, he made his way into the living room, scanning the shelves. There were a few books in Russian, but he found himself drawn to an English book with a cover in blue, black and red, ‘The Thirteen Clocks.’

That looked interesting. He sat down on the sofa and started to read.

It wasn’t an easy read. There were several words that he wasn’t sure were real ones or not. ‘Blob of glup’ did not seem to make sense. But the parts he did understand were good. An evil duke, good prince a man with an indescribable hat....he became immersed in the story.

And then there was a noise...something small. Dima frowned, looking up. There it was again...a moan...a sound of pain. He got up, and followed the sound. He came to the door of the surgery and opened it. In the dim light from the window, he could see that Five was asleep on the bed, moving restlessly. His face was dripping with sweat, and he moaned, twisting his head around, his right hand reaching out to ward of something...or someone.

“Five? Five, _malen'kyi_ wake up-”

He gently shook Five by the shoulder, and suddenly found himself grabbed by his sweater. Five was bolt upright in bed, a look of terror and fury on the boys face.

“Five....it’s me..you are allright..you are all right.”

Slowly he saw the recognition appear in Fives face. The boy began to shake, and tentatively, Dima hugged him, only to find the boy clinging to him as if he was about to disappear. Sobs shook the small body, and Dima rocked him back and forth. “Shhh shh shhh, is all right is all right.”

Slowly the sobbing quieted. Suddenly Five pushed him away, gesturing to his notepad. Once he had it, he wrote:

I’M FINE, NO NEED TO SMOTHER ME.

Dima squinted at the letters, then rolled his eyes.“Smother? _Da_ , all right, I was smothering, I see.”

Five underlined I’M FINE several times.

“You did not look fine. You were..having a nightmare.”

Five looked at him then away.

“ _Malen'kiy_ , it is all right...to be afraid. The doctor said it is normal, after what you have endured.”

Five’s hands still didn’t pick up the pencil. Instead, he lay back in the bed, restlessly drumming his fingers on the notepad.

“The fever does not help, I know. Your dreams become more...real...more strange.”

The boy looked at him, and he could see the dark circles under his eyes, how the hair stuck to his face in sweaty strands.

“Wait, I have idea.”

He walked back to the living room, then came back with the book.

“ ‘The Thirteen Clocks’, have you read this?”

Five looked at it, then wrote: ONCE. BUT PART OF IT WAS BURNED, NEVER GOT TO FIND OUT HOW IT ENDED.

“Well now you will know!” said Dima with a smile. “For I shall read it to you. First, we flip the pillow.” Dima did so. “All the bad dreams fall out, so my mother told me.”

Five settled back down. Dima had a thought. “Wait, I will be right back.” He went to the kitchen, grabbing a cup and filling it with water. Returning, he found Fives bottle of painkillers. “Have one,” he said, handing him a pill. “It will keep down the fever, help you sleep.”

Five rolled his eyes, but took the pill, drinking down all the water as Dima sat on the end of the bed.

“All right. Now, are you sitting comfortably? I shall begin. ‘Once upon a time, in a gloomy castle on a lonely hill, where there were thirteen clocks that wouldn’t go, there lived a cold, aggressive Duke, and his niece, the Princess Saralinda....’ “

Dima read until he heard Fives breathing even out, then slowly closed the book and got up to go. Only to hear Five make a small, inquiring sound, as if he was waking. Dima sat down again. He waited ten minutes, then got up to go. Again, Five stirred in his sleep.  
Dima sighed.  
Looking in the cupboards, he found some extra pillows and blankets. Making himself a small nest on the floor, he lay down next to the bed.

“Good night _malen'kiy_. Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian for this chapter:  
> Yebat' menya- Fuck me  
> Nyet spasiba - No thanks  
> Pustikee- Not at all, a trifle
> 
> I'm sure any parents out there will sympathise with trying to leave a room once your kid is asleep, only for them to start to wake up when you try. So fun!
> 
> Wakefield cusses out Dima and Five in English, Russian, and Italian. The language Dima doesn't recognise is Thai. Apparently the Thai people delight in teaching tourists curse words, so if you go to Thailand (someday) go for it! Or don't, whichever you fancy.
> 
> 'PART OF IT WAS BURNED' Five found a copy of James Thurbers 'The Thirteen Clocks' in the Apocalypse, but obviously it was too damaged to really read. But if you want to you, can read it [online here](http://img1.tapuz.co.il/forums/34104327.pdf)! It's definitely a spiritual precursor to 'The Princess Bride', and it's very short, and also poor Princess Saralinda doesn't have much to do, but I still enjoy it very much.
> 
> 'Are you sitting comfortably' is a phrase my Mom grew up with in England from [an old radio show](https://home.bt.com/news/on-this-day/january-16-1950-are-you-sitting-comfortably-listen-with-mother-comes-to-bbc-radio-11364033688474). Generations of English people say that to their kids before starting a story, it even made it into an [episode of Doctor Who](https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/The_Idiot's_Lantern_\(TV_story\))!
> 
> The next chapter will be going up Sunday November 8th sometime before 10am EST. Just a reminder, this is un-betaed, so let me know if you see any typos or mistakes. Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it!


	7. Bad To Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In many ways, Five is not improving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for gross stuff with burns, Russian swearing, nightmares.

“Hey there sleepyhead.”

Dima blinked. Doctor Wakefield was standing over him, smiling, with a mug in her hand. “Tea?”

“ _Spasibo_.” he said quietly, groaning as he sat up. His back was so sore from sleeping on the ground, but at least Five had slept through the night. He checked on him, but the boy was still fast asleep. Taking his mug, he carefully leaned over to check his forehead, and frowned.

“ _Ya ne ponimayu_ he is shivering, but feels cold...” He put his mug down, feeling uneasy.

Wakefields smile faded. “Does he?” Going to one of the cabinets, she got out a digital thermometer and took his temperature. She frowned. “34 degrees...that’s not a good sign. I’m going to listen to his lungs, then check his burns.”

“What is wrong?”

“Pneumonia I think...but I’ll have to check to be sure. Let’s see if we can prop him up.”

Dima nodded and leaned over, but Wakefield stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Remember, tell him you’re going to do it. Even if he doesn’t look conscious, he might be more aware than we know.”

She walked to the small fridge and took out a long clear bag of liquid with a catheter in it, putting it on the counter, taking out her stethoscope as well. Dima spoke softly to Five as she did.

“Five... _malen'kyi_ , I am going to help you sit up, okay? You are not well, but we are going to make you better.”

Five stirred, and opened his eyes, but didn’t seem fully conscious. Carefully, Dima sat down on the bed, and levered Five up to lean against him. Sweat plastered the boys hair to his forehead, and he shivered with chills.

“Five...hey there.” said Wakefield softly. Five looked slowly in her direction. “Five, your infection is getting worse, and I think you might have pneumonia. I’m going to listen to your lungs, and then give you some antibiotics and painkillers, okay?”

He gave a weak nod in response. Putting on her stethoscope, Wakefield placed the diaphragm of it on his back. “All right, breathe in...” The boy did, a rasping, heavy breath broken by a cough. “And breathe out.” Again, the same, labouring breath.

Removing the stethoscope from her ears, Wakefield nodded. “It looks like you do have a case of pneumonia Five. I’m going to do a test later to see which kind. Hopefully it’s just viral.” She gave the boy a sympathetic smile. “All right, now the pills, here we go.”

Wakefield had to feed him the pills, and Dima helped him raise the glass. It hurt his heart, to see his friend so weak and helpless.

“Okay, we’re almost done Five. I’m going to check your burns now, and we may have to flush them out with saline.”

Five nodded tiredly, then settled back onto the bed with Dimas help.

After washing her hands, she leaned over and peeled back one of the guaze bandages, then wrinkled her nose. “Yes, that looks very bad, especially considering I just cleaned them yesterday...see here?” She pointed and Dima could see the burns had developed a greenish scum over them. “ It’s all over pus, smells bad too. We’ll have to clean those...first let me do a check on his eye and his ribs.”

She spoke up. “I’m going to check your ribs now Five. Let me know if you feel any pain.”

Carefully, she pulled up the edge of his pajama shirt and palpated his abdomen gently. 

“At least his ribs seem to be healing all right...I’ll check his eye too.” Wakefield peeled back the bandages on Five swollen eye. The boy had already fallen back asleep, so she went carefully. It was much better, the swelling having gone down very much since last Dima had seen it.

“Well that’s some good news. I think as long as we keep an eye on it everything should be fine.” She paused, then chuckled tiredly. “God, I didn’t even mean to do that...keep an ‘eye’.”

Sighing, she returned to the counter where she’d left the bag. Opening a drawer, she picked up a syringe and inserted it into the catheter, filling it.

“All right, I’m going to flush the burns with saline solution. Since they aren’t doing well, I’m to treat them like I would an abscess.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it means I’m going to flush them with saline solution, then pack them with gauze. Then change them once a day or more.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Hopefully not.”

“ _Govno,_ ” Dima swore, scrubbing a hand over his face. “ _Ya nenavizhu eto_.”

Wakefield nodded sadly. “I know...it seems like every-time we patch him up, he falls apart again...poor lamb.”

“ _Tak ne chestno_. He as already suffered, now he is suffering more.” Dima clenched his hands. “I do not like it.”

“I don’t either, but we’re doing what we can for him.” She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “And you’re helping him too.”

Dima looked up at her, then shrugged. “It is...the right thing to do.” She smiled, nodding.

“All right...let’s put a towel under his neck, that way we can let him rest while we do this.”

Dima nodded. He walked into the attached bathroom, grabbed a clean towel from a shelf, then returned, handing it to her.  
She nodded her thanks. “Okay, Five, I’m going to lift you now,” then gently lifted up his shoulder, folding the towel and putting it under him. Carefully, she emptied the syringe onto the burns. Five stirred and said “Ow.” in a clear, raspy voice.

She frowned. “He shouldn’t be able to feel that....I hope he doesn’t wake up.”

She flushed the wounds four more times until she was satisfied they were clean enough. Then packed them with gauze. Five had been restless, but hadn’t woken again, thankfully.

“All right...I’m going to take a break now.” she said, sighing. “I usually feed Five some broth about now, or jello. Think you could manage?”

“ _Da_ , this I can do.”

Wakefield warmed some broth in the kitchen microwave, then stirred it and handed it to him. “Try to get most of it down him...He needs some sort of food.”

Dima nodded and returned to the surgery.

Five was moving restlessly now. When Dima sat down with the broth, he very clearly said. “Don’t.” His voice was still very raw, but easy enough to understand.

“ ‘Don’t’?” said Dima, frowning.

“Don’t....don’t hurt them...please! Vanya! No!”

He was moving so restlessly Dima worried he would ruin his new bandages. “Five, wake up-”

“I can’t,” said Five. Tears began to roll down his face. “I can’t... let it...not again! Don’t hurt them, please, no...please!”

“Hey, hey _malen’kyi_ , wake up, hey, wake up.” Dima didn’t want to alarm him into waking again, but didn’t want this nightmare to upset him either.

“NO!” Five shouted, his voice cracked and broken, bringing himself out of his sleep. He looked around, panting and blinking as tears and sweat dripped down his face.

“Hey, hey don’t speak Five, don’t speak, you are safe, you are safe...” Dima smiled at him, patting his foot. That was all right, yes?

Five stared at him, and then pulled his blankets up, shivering as he rubbing a weary hand over his forehead.

“I have some broth for you, if you want.”

The boy nodded. He sat up with his help and drank a little more than half before falling back.

“You were talking...in your sleep.”

Five flicked his eyes to him, then away.

“You said.... ‘not again, don’t hurt them.’ ”

He stared at him a moment longer, then turned over, closing his eyes.

“ _Yeban’ko maloletnee, perestan’ bit dabayobom!_...I am not trying to pry, just to help you!”

Five ignored him. Dima sat there patiently, but eventually Fives breaths evened out into sleep. Sighing, he stood, and quietly left the room.

Dima made his way back into the kitchen.

“I have some...bad news.”

"Christ," said Wakefield wearily. She'd been making some soup and turned down the heat before facing him. "All right, out with it."

“Along with his...complications, Five...does not seem to be doing well....in here.” Dima tapped his head. “Nightmares. He was having them last night, and again as we left him alone.”

“Not surprised, not after what he’s been through.” she said, nodding.

“I will watch over him. I can sleep on floor.”

“Dima, you’ll exhaust yourself.” Wakefield said gently.

“No matter. He needs me, and I will help him.”

She shook her head. "Don't be such a bloody martyr, we’ll take it in turns. I can always do my paperwork and reading there, we’ll do some batch cooking. And I can put the camp bed in there too. Hopefully this’ll only be for a few days.”

Dima hesitated.

“What, what is it?”

“He said... ‘don’t hurt them.’ He was begging. He never begs. Not ever.” He clenched his teeth.

“Must be someone important to him.” said Wakefield after a moment.

Dima hmmed in thought. “Do you have his clothes that he was wearing?”

Wakefield shook her head no. “I put them out in the trash, they were beyond repair.”

“I think...I need to look at them.”

Dima wrinkled his nose as he pulled Fives clothes out of the garbage bag where they had been. Thankfully, it hadn't taken long to find them. They were filthy, stiffened with blood. They smelled terrible and felt worse. He came up with two pieces of paper, blood-stained but still readable.

One read ‘Alisons number 1-202-633-1000’

The other one was a brief message on a scrap of paper. ‘Russia, not England. Try there. -D’

Russian not England? He frowned, turning it over, but there was nothing on the other side.

“ _Chto za khernya?_ What does that mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian for this chapter:  
> spasibo- Thanks  
> Ya ne ponimayu - I don't understand  
> malen'kiy- little one  
> Govno- Shit  
> Ya nenavizhu eto - I hate this  
> tak ne chestno-It's not fair  
> Yeban’ko maloletnee-Adolescent jerk  
> Perestan’ bit dabayobom-Stop being a dipshit  
> Chto za khernya-What the fuck  
> I really went back and forth with this chapter and I'm still not really happy with it. Ah well, I guess that's just writing :/
> 
> Also I got 'No thank you' wrong in the Russian translation for last chapter, sorry about that! I'm trying, but sometimes the internet fails me.
> 
> Also Alisons number is a real number....to the Smithsonian Instituted! I really love the Smithsonian, so it's my go to 'fake American number' thing.
> 
> Human temperature is a tricky thing. Adult bodies like to be around 37 degrees C usually. Two or more degrees deviating from that is not good. Also please bear with me, I was unable to find the regular temperature for thirteen year olds, so I just used adult temperature, my apologies!
> 
> Also, brief politics bit here, congrats Americans for voting out Trump, whoo!
> 
> The next chapter will be up Nov. 10th before 10am EST.


	8. Notes and Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil."  
> -Gandalf, _The Lord Of The Rings_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for mentions of child abuse, both emotional and physical. Mentions of Reginald Hargreeves A+ parenting.

Dima was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the paper in his hand.

‘Russia, not England. Try there. - D’

Nothing about it had changed. It was a piece of paper, ordinary. But he could not stop considering it.

“Okay...I can’t look at those walls a moment longer, your turn.” said Wakefield, walking into the living room. She stopped.  
“What’s that?”

Dima hesitated. His first instinct was to hide the paper, but then he thought again. Being suspicious and paranoid had been his life. Time for a change.

He handed it to her, along with the number, and she read it them both, frowning. “ ‘Russia, not England. Try there. -D’ ” She looked at him puzzled and he shrugged.

“I do not know either.”

“Well....maybe it’s someone from his cult?”

“Again with the cult, _bozhe moy_ , there is no cult!”

Wakefield blew out a breath, exasperated. “Well what about that tattoo? And the scars?”

Dima frowned. “What tattoo? What scars”

“How could you not notice?? That black umbrella on his wrist? It’s a few years old too. I doubt it was his idea, and a good tattoo artist wouldn’t do that to a child. And the scars....along with the injuries he recently got, he already had a healed shrapnel wound and a bullet graze, and some small scars from...I’m not even sure. And it’s not the first time he’s had broken ribs either.”

He thought about that, and found himself growing angry at the thought of someone mistreating the child in such a way. “ _Bespokoyashchiy_...should we ask him?”

“No,” said Wakefield, shaking her head. “If someones been abusing him, he may not open up about it. We have to be patient, let him lead the conversation.”

Dima nodded. “We will discus more later. For now, ‘my watch begins’.”

“What’s that from?” said Wakefield as he stood up. He looked at her, astonished.

“ ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’...you have not read this?”

She shook her head. Dima grinned.

“We must fix this! You should buy them from the store, I think you will like.”

“I might consider it, and don’t forget his broth!” she called after him as he left the room.

Dima nodded. “ _Da_ , I am getting it now.”

Grabbing the bowl, he knocked on the door to the surgery, then walked in.

Five had been dozing, and stirred when Dima entered. “Lunch!” he said, grinning. Five knuckled the sleep from his eyes, then picked up his notepad.

YOU SAY ‘LUNCH’ AND I SAY ‘SOUP WATER’ 

“Get better and maybe we can talk something richer, like blood pudding.”

Five made a face and Dima tsked. “Blood pudding is good for you! Will fatten you up, make you strong, like me!”

STRONG AS AN OX, WITH THE MIND TO MATCH.

“Don’t be rude. Now drink your soup water.”

Five managed half, then settled back, his eyelids drooping, before sighing.

“What?”

GOTTA PISS.

He struggled to get up, only to fall back down.

“Let me help.” said Dima, reaching out, only for Five to pull away, scowling. He broke into a coughing fit, using his arm to lean against the wall as he walking stiffly towards the bathroom.

Dima sat down on the chair near the bed, waiting. He put his hand in his pocket, pulling out another of his mothers letters. He had had it in there for awhile, considering if he should read it. He only had seven, and he had read one. The first one had motivated him to rescue Five, to change his whole life. He desperately wanted to open another, but knew that the more he read, the less he would have left.

Five slowly made his way back from the bathroom back to his bead, panting and shaking with effort. He almost collapsed back into the bed, sighing in relief.

I HAT THIS, he wrote, once he was settled back into his cot.

“What?”

Five glared at him, and then wrote.  
I HATE THIS. BEING SICK. USELESS. TIRED.

“I know _malen’kyi_.”

DON’T CALL ME THAT.

He sighed. “Okay....what should I call you?”

MY NAME DUMBASS. OR IF YOU MUST, I LIKE всезнайка.

“Wise guy? _Da_ okay, I can call you that.”

BECAUSE I’M VERY WISE.

“ _Yesli ty tak govorish'_.” Dima said, smirking.

Unconsciously, he had been tapping the letter against his knee. Five looked at it inquiringly.

Dima sighed. “ _Eto nichego_.”

Five raised an eyebrow.

“It is...a letter. From my mother.”

Five looked at him, then wrote on his notepad.

ANY GOOD?

“I...don’t know. I have only read one.”

WHY?

“My father.” Dima clenched his jaw. “He...kept them from me.”

WHAT AN ASSHOLE.

Dima shrugged. “Maybe.”

COULD YOU

Five stopped, then kept writing.

COULD YOU READ THEM TO ME.

“Why?”

I’M ADOPTED. MY FATHER BROUGHT ME AND MY SIBLINGS FROM OUR BIRTH MOTHERS. IT WOULD BE NICE TO HEAR.

“Your father....what?”

IT’S A LONG STORY.

“What was your father like.”

A LOT LIKE YOURS I IMAGINE. A LITTLE LESS HANDS ON MAYBE, BUT JUST AS EVIL.

“I am sorry.”

HE’S DEAD NOW. I DON’T MISS HIM.

“I...wish I could say the same. But....” Dima swallowed. “I loved him. He was...all I knew. Some days, were not so bad. He took me to the harbour once, we saw the ships come in. He brought me a toy car that I could drive, from all the way in America.”

ABUSERS ARE LIKE THAT. THEY LIKE TO PRETEND THEY DO NICE THINGS, ACT LIKE THEY’RE YOUR FRIEND SOMETIMES. JUST SO THEY CAN FEEL BETTER ABOUT THE TIMES THEY TREAT YOU LIKE SHIT.

“He did not abuse me. He was just....strict.”

THEN HOW DID YOU GET THOSE BURNS ON YOUR ARM. OR THE ONES ON YOUR NECK. OR THE ONES ON YOUR OTHER ARM.

Dima swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck.

YOU'RE PRETTY GOOD AT COVERING THE REST OF THEM UP, BUT I NOTICED.

“My father was...he was....he had troubles. I...should not have burdened him.”

THAT’S BULLSHIT. HE HURT YOU. YOU WERE JUST A KID. YOU DIDN’T DESERVE IT.

Dima stood up abruptly. “You are tired, I will let you rest.”

Something hit the wall next to the door, a spoon. He turned around to see Five glaring at him. He held up his pad.

I’M ON YOUR SIDE ASSHOLE, EVEN IF YOU DON’T KNOW IT.

Dima nodded curtly. “I know.”

CAN YOU READ THE LETTER?  
PLEASE.

“...I...very well.”

Slowly, he sat down and opened it, starting to read.

" 'Dima, My darling boy...it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. How are you? Do you have many friends? How is school? Oh my love, I miss you so so much. I can’t wait to see you again, and smother you in a thousand kisses and the worlds biggest hug. Did Daddy give you the books I got you? I hope you like them. In case you’re having trouble with the titles it's [Anne of Green Gables] and [The Wind in The Willows]....' " 

Dima swallowed. He had never gotten those books.

" 'Anne....Anne is one of my favourite characters. She goes through so many hard times. She’s an orphan, a girl who has had to work despite her youth, but she is unbent, unbroken. There is a deep wellspring in her of hope and joy, and I only want that for you Dima. Hope and joy.  
Mommy will see you soon, I promise. Love love Marta.' " 

There was a hand on his wrist, and he turned to read the note in Fives hand.

YOU DIDN'T GET THOSE BOOKS, DID YOU.

Dima shook his head ‘no’. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as the boy looked at him sympathetically.

His mother had loved him so much...and he had forgotten her. Had been _allowed_ to forget her. She had been cut out of his life like a cancer. And it had been his father who did it.

The sobs tore out of him, breaking free of his chest, wet and raw. He felt small, skinny arms go around his shoulders, and Dima wept for his mother, for his childhood as Five comforted him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry for the late post! There was a lot going on this morning! I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> Russian for this chapter:  
> bozhe moy! -Oh my god, oh my goodness!  
> bespokoyashchiy-disturbing  
> malen'kiy- little one  
> всезнайка/vseznayka-wise guy, smart alec  
> yesli ty tak govorish' - if you say so  
> eto nichego-It's nothing
> 
> Abusers really are tricky with the 'I do this because I love you, oh look, I was nice to you that one time so I'm actually a decent person.' It's always bullshit, don't believe it.
> 
> Because there doesn't seem to be high tech in the TUA world, I chosen to believe that nothing that requires lots of computer graphics would get made. So no 'Game of Thrones' or 'The Avengers' (aww! :( )or anything else. Dima would totally love AGOT. Maybe not the ending though.
> 
> Next chapter will be up Nov 12, 10am EST.


	9. A Little More Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Wild animals never kill for sport. Man is the only one to whom the torture and death of his fellow creatures is amusing in itself.'
> 
> -James Anthony Froude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for discussions of attempted sexual assault/rape, homophobia, and a censored homophobic slur.

The days passed. Five continued to improve, at times slowly. Dima and Wakefield continued to switch shifts, staying with Five so he could sleep. It wore on them both, and more often then not they snapped at each other, about the weather, the food, anything.

It might have gone on like that if Dima hadn’t been cleaning his gun and knife at the kitchen table one day. Wakefield walked in, and Dima braced himself for a scolding about cleaning his weapons at the table. Instead, she had looked at the knife and asked if she could borrow it. Later, Dima went to check on Five, only to find the child fast asleep, the sheathed knife clutched in his hand.

“Some kids sleep with teddy bears, Five needs something more...sharp.” Wakefield had said with a smile.

Wakefield also made the trip to gather clothing ‘donations’ coming back with a very large bag. Five and he sorted them out (it took two days for Five, as he kept falling asleep during). Dima found some tolerable shirts and trousers, and a worn but warm jacket. Five....did not care for any of the clothes, but sighed and picked them out anyway. With Wakefields help, Dima cut his hair and shaved it on the sides, making sure he looked as different as possible from his old self. Wakefield offered to do Fives hair, but the child had signed to her that he'd rather be shot in the face. Which put an end to _that_.

Dima also was enjoying Wakefields book collection, both to read by himself, and to Five. Thankfully, Wakefield had both ‘The Wind In The Willows’ and ‘Anne of Green Gables’. Dima had read the first chapter of Anne in his yellow guest room, and cried over it, as he knew he would.  
Later he read it to Five, who did not cry, but certainly seemed very misty eyed. His favourite was still ‘The Thirteen Clocks’, which they read over and over.

READ THE BIT WHERE THEY GO TO FIND HAGGA. Five wrote, just after Dima had finished the book for the seventh time.

“ _Yeshche raz_? Very well.” he said, as Five settled back into his bed. He flipped it open and began to read.  
“ ‘The way is dark and getting darker. The hut is high and even higher. I wish you luck, there is none.’ ”

It was also apparent to both Wakefield and Dima that Five was...not an ordinary child.  
He spoke with authority, but was impatient over things in the way a grandfather was, with grumbling and dark looks. It was confusing. Wakefield thought Five was gifted. That would explain why sometimes when Five spoke to him, Dima would often feel like a very stupid child being lectured by an frustrated father.

Once he was well enough to stand and his cast came off, Five somehow got a rifle. When they asked him where he got it, he signed something to Wakefield, who rolled her eyes. “He said he ‘found’ it.” she said to Dima when he asked.

The boy would often go outside on milder days doing some target shooting in the wide open farmlands behind Wakefields house. He didn’t bullseye every-time, but his skill was enough to give both Wakefield and he pause. Not only that, but he would forget the time, and they would have to go out and drag him back in, so the colder evening air wouldn’t damage his healing throat. Even so, Wakefield insisted that he not leave without a thick, warm scarf. Five signed that it was ‘ridiculous’, but wore it anyway.

His bruises started to heal. Now there were only small cuts around his eyes, and he could walk short distances without support.

But the nightmares continued.  
Not often. But now and then, Dima or Wakefield would rush out of their rooms in the dead of night, woken by the sound of screams.

And always Five would refuse to tell them what he had been dreaming of.

When asked about the notes that Dima had found, Five would change the subject, or say that he was too tired. Wakefield and he a had fight about that, hands furiously flashing at each other until Wakefield slapped both hands down on the dining room table.

“We’re calling the number! And that’s final.”

Five banged his hands together with two fingers out, the one sign Dima knew. Fuck that.

He disappeared outside to shoot, slamming the door behind him.

There was a pause. Wakefield drummed her fingers on the table, looking down at the papers.  
“We should call it.” she said suddenly.

“Why would we?” said Dima, raising an eyebrow.

“They might know Five, or...or know friends of his, family.”

“We do not know anything about this ‘Alilson’.”

“We’d know more if we called the number, wouldn’t we.” Wakefield laughed as Dima rolled his eyes.

“I know I know, curiosity killed the cat.” she said.

“Satisfaction brought it back.” said Dima. Wakefield raised her eyebrows. “So...are you saying we should call?”

“I am saying....why not. I think you have worn me down.”

Wakefield dialed the number, waiting as she was put through. Dima nervously crossed his arms, uncrossed, them crossed them again.

“Yes hello!” Wakefield gave him a thumbs up. “Yes hello, my name is Doctor Wakefield, I’m calling from Russia-”

She listened. “This is about Five Hargreeves-” Her eyes widened and she made a quick, negative motion with her hands.

“No! No he’s not dead- What? No, I mean, I suppose so? But that’s not why I’m calling.” She paused. “Five...Mr. Hargreaves was badly hurt-”

“It’s all right," she said hastily. "That happened some time ago, he’s much recovered now.”

She winced, making a face. “Um...well....you see...I found this number in his pocket and I...well...I suppose it wasn’t very polite of me, but I thought I’d call.”

“I...sorry?” Wakefield made an exasperated sound. “Because I’m not! I’m a doctor, not a...ah..ah _jailer_!”

She paused for a long moment, then started to frown. “You first, who is this? What happened to Alison?”

“I..as I already said, I’m Doctor Wakefield, calling from Russia-"

Suddenly Five was there. He grabbed the receiver away from Wakefield, glaring at her.

Dima blinked. He hadn’t even heard Five come in.

“It’s me.” he said hoarsely into the phone, then rolled his eyes.

“Yes it’s me Diego.”

He paused, listening. “It involves a Russian mafia boss.”

He sighed. “Yes it does.”

“I’m fine. Things got complicated, but I’m fine. I’m hanging up now.”

Five slammed the phone down. There was silence in the kitchen as he stood there.

The he turned on his heel and went back out. Putting on his jacket, Dima followed him. "Dima!" he turned around to see Wakefield looking after him, nervously twisting her hands together.  
"Please tell him I'm sorry."

He nodded, then followed him.

Five had already set up his targets when Dima walked up. He gave the man a sidedways look, then turned his attention back to the targets before taking his shot. The vaguely man sized plywood shape took four rounds....to the genitals.

Dima looked at that, then back to Five. “If only there was some way to tell what you were thinking.” he said sarcastically.

“Fuck you.” Five said in a rasping whisper.

“You should not talk.”

“The doctor said I could talk for short periods...or do you not remember?”

Dima nodded. “I remember this.”

He watched as Five fired again, four more shots. Two headshots, one shoulder. The boy grimaced.

“Still not as good as I’d like.”

The was a moments silence...then Five spoke.

“You shouldn’t have called them.”

“We were worried-”

“You were curious.” he corrected sharply.

Dima shrugged. “Both perhaps.” Five nodded, then took the rifle down from his shoulder, standing it in the snow next to him as he stared into the distance.

“My nightmares....they’re about my family.”

He paused, then continued. “I’m back in the kitchen. I can’t move. Your boss, Gagarin, has them in a row in front of me, on their knees. My brothers....my sisters...I...beg...for their lives, but he gives the order, and his soldiers gun them down. And those are the tamer ones. There are others where he tortures them...or...”

He stopped, breathing hard, staring at nothing.

“Your boss.” Five said suddenly. “If I hadn’t bit him...” He trailed off. “Sometimes I close my eyes, and it’s like I’m back in that damned kitchen.”

Five clenched his jaw. “He was going to...rape me, and then let the rest of the men have a turn. I could see it in his eyes.”

Dima could feel the bile rise in his throat, and swallowed it down. Five breathed out, then breathed in, slowly. “I’ve never....been threatened like that. I knew..that I had to hurt him quick and nasty, or they would....or they would.” he coughs, then cleared his throat. His hands, when they chamber the next round, are shaking.

There was silence between them for a moment, broken only by the sound of a bird, calling as it flew overhead.

“When you said...” Dima cleared his throat. “When you said that you had killed sadists and rapists...I thought that was...”

Five gave him a weary, disgusted look. “What, exaggeration? Hyperbole? What kind of men did you think you were working with Dima?”

Dima shook his head. “I thought...they still had some kind of honour.”

“Then you’re stupider then you look.” Before Dima can retort, Five has lined up the sight again and has taken down three more targets.

“I am sorry....for what Gagarin did." Dima said. "For what he tried to do to you. He is...a vile man, a f____t and a monster.”

Five narrowed his eyes, then sighed heavily.

“Dima... Gagarin is a predator, not queer. There is a huge difference. Also do not ever, _ever_ say that word again. I don’t mean ‘don’t say that in front of me’, I mean not ever.”

Dima shifted his weight, uncomfortably. “But....homosexuality is...not natural.”

“Dima you under-educated spork,” he rasped. “Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it. The natural world is one big queer love in. Not to mention that my sister is bisexual and my brother is pansexual, and they’re some of the best people I know.”

He paused, considering. “Well...maybe Vanya is...Klaus is....okay, but anyway, you’re wrong.”

“But...it is a sin! The bible says so.”

“No. First of all, when was the last time you cracked open a bible you hypocrite? Second, murder is a sin, and you and I have already committed that. Many. Times. Third, everything about queer people in the bible is in the book of Leviticus, which also says you shouldn’t be tattooed, or have piercings, or eat shellfish.”

“But-”

“No more buts. You wanna prove you’re stupid? Keep on thinking the way you are.”

Five reached up and tapped his forehead gently, twice. “Get smarter son.”

Abruptly he turned and headed back to the house, leaving Dima behind him with a head full of confused thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five: Vanya and Klaus are some of the best people I know.  
> Klaus: :-)  
> Five: Well Vanya is.  
> Klaus: :-(
> 
> I'm late again! Sorry, aaahhhhh!
> 
> About Dimas homophobia: He'd been raised mostly by men who prize demonstrative, macho masculinity. Everything perceived as 'other' in societies like that is considered deviant. He has a lot to unlearn. Also why did I censor the slur? Because this is my fic and I can.
> 
> Russian for this chapter:  
> yeshche raz-Again
> 
> Also for this chapter:  
> ASL for [Ridiculous](https://www.signingsavvy.com/search/ridiculous)  
> ASL for [Found](https://www.signingsavvy.com/sign/FOUND/3488/1f)  
> And for ['Fuck that'](https://youtu.be/PpvTQdBLqDg?t=79)
> 
> Next chapter coming Nov. 14th before 10am (I promise!) EST
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	10. Past Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wakefield and Five have a conversation about the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW of discussions of domestic abuse and child abuse

Wakefield was sitting nervously at the kitchen table, biting a hangnail. An old, bad habit of hers, one that she’d tried to break herself of many times.

She shouldn’t have gone behind Fives back, not when he’d already been feeling so fragile. It was a betrayal of his trust. Dima had gone after him of course, faithful as ever. She could swear that the man was Fives father, the way he fretted over him. If they looked anything alike, she might suspect it was true.

She checked the clock. The sun would be setting soon...and Five couldn’t be out there in that cold....She’d let them have five more minutes and then-

The backdoor opened and Five walked in, leaving meltwater puddles on the floor.

“Boots off!” she said automatically. The boy paused, then, sighing, walked back the few feet he’d gone and pulled them off.

“Five...I’m sorry, in case Dima hadn’t told you.”

[He didn’t.] Five signed, then she had to wait until he took off his outerwear before he continued. The little bastard. He opened the window a crack.

“It’s cold out there.” Wakefield protested.

[It’s boiling in here, let’s just leave it open for a bit.] he signed.  
He went to the cupboards, getting out the coffee and putting it on to brew.

[The apology is appreciated] he signed. [But it’s too late, I’ve already forgiven you.]

She gave him a small smile. “You little shit.”

[Takes one to know one.]

“Oi watch it, or I’ll wash those hands out with soap.” she said, chuckling.

He sat down. It seemed like she was always talking to one or both of them in the kitchen here. It was...nice. It had been so long since she had any real company. Oh she had her patients of course, and they were nice enough. But no-one really wanted to get to know the strange woman doctor from England who lived by herself.

The coffee bubbled in the pot, and Five poured her a mug, then waited a few minutes more for his own.

[Sugar? Milk?]

“Just milk please.”

She made a face as he drank his straight. “How can you drink it like that? It’s so bloody strong.”

[All coffee should be as black as hell and strong as death.]

“Very poetic of you.”

They sat quietly for a moment. Then Five signed. [Did you know that Dima was homophobic?]

“Oh....that’s...disappointing but not surprising.” She sighed, pushing a stray hair back from his face. “I hoped he was better than that.”

[I gave him some things to think about at least, but he’s about as thick as my brother, and almost as stubborn.]

“You’ve never talked about your family before.”

[You met two of them today.]

“Yeah, on the phone.”

[That’s closer than I let most people get.]

“Where...” she was about to say, where is your family, where is your mum and dad? But she was sure he’d dodge the question again. “How....old are your brothers?” she asked instead.

[Hmm.....what year is it? They’d be about thirty now, I believe.]

“And...how old are you?”

Five smiled at her over the rim of his coffee mug, then set it down. [You wouldn’t believe me.]

“Try.”

[Fifty eight.]

“Oh...well you’re very well preserved for your age.” she said with mock seriousness.

[You have no idea.]

“You in any pain today?”

He looked away, shrugging. [Pain is just the bodys way of saying ‘I’m still alive.’]

“You didn’t answer my question.”

[Yes. Some. It’s fine.]

“Scale of one to ten.” she insisted. Five sighed. [Would you believe a five?]

“No...I wouldn't.” said Wakefield. 

[I’ve had worse.]

“Had worse? Five,” she said gently. “...You’re only thirteen...you shouldn’t have to say things like that.”

Five’s face became blank, then cooly angry. [Haven’t you had worse? With your former husband?]

She felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. “We’re not talking about me.”

[And why not talking about you? You’re so ready to stick your nose into my business, but I should have known you could dish it out but not take it.] his fingers snapped the words out.

“I...please don’t.” She could feel the tears starting in her eyes, and wiped at her face with the heel of her hand.

Five looked uncomfortable, then away. [Sorry.] he finally said, rubbing one hand on his chest.

“He used to hit me.” she said suddenly. “We were so young when we married, I thought...well, he’d grow out of it. But...we didn’t have much money...things didn’t get any better. I thought things would change when he finally became a father...but....”

She bit her lip. “He’d say he was sorry, but soon enough, he’d do it again. And again. And...I thought I could put up with it, that I deserved it. But...when he started hurting my son...”

She clenched her hands around her mug. “I left..I tried to get us both away....but...well....We were leaving, the both of us, and he..my husband...caught us. And he was so...so angry...he grabbed him away from me, and he said ‘leave or I’ll kill you both’.”

The tears were running down her face now. “I begged him, I told him I’d stay, that I’d do whatever he wanted...but he shouted that he didn’t want.....someone like me around his child, that he’d raise him as he saw fit.”

She sighed. “I sent him some letters for a while...but I never got back an answer. My poor little Roland...my Roly Poly I used to call him.”

Five said nothing, but looked at her with a distant sympathy.

“I just wish...I just wish I could have him back.” she said, her voice cracking.

She heard a noise outside, Dima finally coming back she supposed. She busied herself cleaning up with mugs, and then turned back to Five. The boy looked at her, then away.

[I know] he stopped.  
[I don’t know what you] he stopped again, before finally signing out. [My father never laid a finger on us. But he was cruel too.]

Wakefield shrugged, hugging herself. “Yeah well...”

Dima came in then, and she just...looked at him. He took a step towards her, his hand out....but then he dropped it. He shot Five an angry look.

“Don’t you get angry with Five for what he said.” she told him. Dimas attention snapped back to her.  
“There are all kinds of people in the world Dima...and you better get used to it, because if you can’t come to terms with how wrong your beliefs are, I don’t think we can be friends.”

She practically ran from the kitchen to her room, shutting the door behind her. Sitting down on the bed, she scrubbed angrily at her face with her hands. “It’s in the past, it’s in the past, it can’t hurt you, it’s in the past.” she repeated to herself, over and over, as if it would stop the tears running down her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't translate all the ASL for this chapter, but here's a few words:  
> [Homophobic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MhraoWyOMTw)  
> [Coffee](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=415)  
> [Stubborn](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=2098) (I like this one a lot!)  
> [Milk](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=1382)  
> [Sugar](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=2111)  
> [Father](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=758)  
> [Son](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=2022)  
> [Sorry](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=2027)  
> [Forgive](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=4905)
> 
> Fives loves his coffee, and [his quotes about coffee.](https://www.barrypopik.com/index.php/new_york_city/entry/coffee_should_be_black_as_hell_strong_as_death_and_sweet_as_love)
> 
> Here we see Five in his natural habitat: Being an asshole. (I love Five to pieces but he is.)
> 
> Wakefields perspective this chapter! Wow, I wish I'd thought of that before. To be honest, I'm not entirely happy with the continuity of this fic. I'll probably have to go back and give it a makeover at some point. And the typos (oh god the typos! This is what comes of doing fic un-betaed!)
> 
> We're getting near the end! I think maybe three more chapters? In any case, thank you for reading! If you're interested, I've just written an ['about me'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515389), give it a look if you like.
> 
> Next chapter will be going up before 10am EST on Nov. 16th.


	11. Unravelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall apart between Dima and his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for homophobia, gay bashing, blood, gore, and a censored homophobic slur.

Dima glared at Five, still standing by the door. Five ignored him, walking leisurely to the surgery to retrieve his notepad, and then walking back.

YOU KNOW, THE KEY TO EAVESDROPPING IS NOT GETTING CAUGHT.

“ _Poshyel k chyertu!_.” Dima bit out. “You had no right, to do that to her.”

I DIDN’T LAY A FINGER ON HER. Five wrote.

“ _Otlez’ gnida_ .” Dima hissed. “Did that make you happy, eh? Making her cry? Having her...confess her troubles to you, like you are a _popyk_ "

NO IT DIDN’T. 

“And now what, she thinks I’m a _zadnitza_ too?” said Dima, throwing up his hands. 

I TOLD HER YOU HAD SOME BACKWARDS IDEAS. 

Dima stood over Five, using his full height to intimidate. “I am as I was made." he growled. 

ISN’T EVERYONE? Five wrote, unimpressed. 

The two of them glared at each other for a moment before Dima turned to storm into his guest room, slamming the door. 

The next several days were like a kind of hell. The conversations over cups of tea and coffee vanished, along with the easy joking and camaraderie. Ironically though Five had brought the three of him together, Five had torn them apart as well. 

Wakefield spent most of her time in her bedroom, only coming out to inspect Fives wounds. Dima stayed to the living room, and Five either in his makeshift shooting gallery or his surgery.  
There were times Dima heard Five scream at night, even though he _knew_ he still had his knife. He would pull a pillow over his head, and face the wall until he heard Wakefield walk to the surgery to calm him down. 

There was one day Dima caught Five speaking to Wakefield, in the sign language that he still did not understand.  
He drew back, down the hall, watching the two of them jealously. It was foolish of him. He knew that all he would have to do would be to speak with them, and this 'cold war' would be over. But he could not. 

Five was signing something that looked like a rocking motion. "What?!" Wakefield started to stand up, but Five gently grabbed her arm, continuing to sign. Wakefield slowly sat back down, looking shaken.  
As the boy continued to sign, Wakefield put a hand to her mouth, shaking her head. Tears welled up in her eyes. "He...oh." She started to cry. Five signed something else, taking up his gun and pointing outside. She laughed and nodded, still crying. Then Five left.  
Dima retreated back to his room, puzzled about what he’d just seen, angry to be left out. 

Finally, they had to leave the house.

“We’re out of milk. And butter. And eggs. Here’s a list of other things too.” said Wakefield, smiling awkwardly and apologetically. She had knocked on his door and handed him the list.  
“And take Five..if that's all right.” 

Biting back an angry retort, Dima knocked on the surgery door, then walked in. Five had been writing on his notepad, and looked up when he entered. 

“Wakefield needs us to go to the store.” He suddenly remembered Wakefield saying to give Five warning if they were to go anywhere, but in this moment, he did not care. 

US? 

“ _Da_. Get your coat.” he said, as he holstered his gun. It was just to the grocery store, but better to be safe. 

Five rolled his eyes, but readied to leave. They drove in silence. It had been the first time they had been in the truck together since he had brought Five to Wakefields. He had tidied up since then, in case he had ever had to drive the doctor anywhere. But now it seemed that that was unlikely to happen. 

They arrived at the store, Dima parking the car in silence. Once inside, he spoke without looking at the boy. “I’ll will take this half of the list, you take the other." 

Five stared at him with a bored look, then nodded.  
Dima felt out of place under the florescent lights and the bright name brands. He gathered the food in silence, finding himself frowning so ferociously that he caused two young men to rush by him in an aisle. Turning to give them a last scowl, he saw them holding hands, heads close together as they dared to look back at him. 

He sighed, shaking his head. Things had been a lot simpler in the old days. 

_The old days? When you were a murderer working for a monster? Those old days?_ said an inner voice. It sounded annoyingly like Five. 

“ _Dostatochnyy_.” Dima muttered to himself. He found the rest of the items and put them in his basket, meeting up with Five at the register. The young woman behind the counter smiled at them. She had a very pretty smile. 

“[Having a nice day out with your Dad?]” she said to Five. 

“[He’s not my dad.]” Five answered back with a weary rasp. “[He’s my brother.]” Dima blurted out. Five looked at him as if he’d just said they were flying to the moon. 

“[So nice to see brothers getting along.]” said the woman, as she handed them their groceries. 

Dima carried the groceries back to the car, turning the lie over in his mind.  
His brother.  
He wished that Five _was_ his brother. It had felt right, to say that in the moment. To feel that warmth of feeling, that pride and love. It would be nice...the three of them, Five, Dima, and Wakefield, living together in the little house by the old farm...learning sign language together, reading each other books.... 

“ _Dovol'no lozh'_.” muttered Dima to himself as they both walked to the truck. 

A chuckle further away shattered his thoughts. He knew that laugh. He turned, slowly, and dropped his keys and the groceries in shock.

Gregor and Illya were laughing together, passing a bottle back and forth as they walked through the car lot. 

“ _Jebat moi lisiy cherep_.” said Dima, staring. This was some terrible bad luck. The soldiers were right at the exit, the well lit  exit. There would be no way to avoid them. 

Five followed his gaze, and he heard his breath catch. “...Shit.” he breathed, backing up slightly. 

It was truly the worst luck...if only something would distract them- 

“[Hey! Hey you!]” Gregor said. Dima braced himself, but Gregor wasn’t shouting at them. It was the two young men who had passed him in the store. 

“[What do you think you’re doing you little fairy f_____ts? Walking around in the open like this? You shameful freaks!]”  
“[This is a family store.]” said Ivakin, full of mocking concern. The young men, boys really, backed up, holding each others hands tightly. 

“[We don’t want any trouble.]” said one of them, holding up a hand. Gregor smiled, and suddenly drove a fist into his face. Ivakin laughed, and lit a cigarette before joining in. 

Dima slowly started backing towards the truck. They were distracted, Five and he could easily slip away. Gregor and Ivakin would be busy for some time. He looked down at Five to tell him to get to the truck-  
Five was staring wide eyed at Gregor, breathing in quick gasps as his hand rubbed at the bandages on his neck. Dima felt his stomach drop, and he looked back. 

Yes..busy...busy beating those men. Hurting them.  
Like his father had hurt him.  
Like they had hurt Five. 

It wasn’t...he...wasn’t....he couldn’t... 

He shut his eyes tight, then opened them, breathing out. "Five." Five startled next to him, as if he'd been awakened from a nightmare. Dima jerked his head at the mafia soldiers and raised an eyebrow. Five slowly smiled at him and Dima found himself smiling back. 

And then together they ran. Towards, not away. 

Dima got there first, running up behind Gregor and kicking his feet out from under him. “[God damnit!]” Gregor swore as he fell to the ground, then looked at him, eyes wide. “[Dima? Shit!]” 

Dima smiled. “[Yes!]” he said, before drawing his gun. Snarling, Gregor knocked it out of his hand, and tackled him. 

The two of them wrestled on the ground in the snow, clawing and biting at each other like animals. Distantly, Dima was aware of Ivakin shouting and strange flashes of blue light. 

He saw his gun in the snow in front of him, and reached out, only to feel something heavy hit him on the side of his head. The world suddenly seemed far away, titled to the side. He saw his gun in the grey snow in front of him, grabbed by a hand. He slowly followed the hand, seeing at the other end of it Gregors ugly, smiling face. The man said something, but Dima didn’t hear it. He tried to move, but his legs wouldn’t work.  
His whole world narrowed to the barrel of a gun. 

And...then... 

There was a bright blue flash, and Five appeared from...nowhere on top of Gregors back. The truck keys were clenched tightly between his fingers, and he stabbed at the criminals face, again, and again, Gregor screaming and flailing. As he fell, Five smoothly slipped from the mans shoulders to land on his feet, then reached over his body, slashing violently. The screaming stopped abruptly. Five stood there, shaking and breathing hard, covered in blood, then looked over at Dima. He nodded. Dima nodded back. 

“[Fuck you both!]” shouted Ivakin. His face was a bloody pulp, and half an ear was gone, but he still was able to point a gun at them.  
Only to be punched out by one of the young men. It was...a _very_ good punch. Ivakin fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. 

“[Thank you.]” said the man, breathing hard. He had a black eye, and his boyfriend has a bruise on his cheek, but otherwise they both seemed all-right...just shaken. 

“[You two need to leave...now.]” rasped Five. “[We’ll deal with this one.]” 

“[It’s all right..we’ve called the police. They’ll deal with this scum.]” said one of the men, spitting on Ivakins unconscious body. 

The police...no...bad news. 

“Dima...get up...get up!” Five helped him to his feet. “Come on...we’ve got to go. Now!” 

Together, they staggered back to the truck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian for this chapter:  
> Poshyel k chyertu-Go to hell!  
> Otlez’ gnida-Fuck off you flea child  
> popyk-priest, priestling  
> Zadnitza-an ass/jerk  
> dostatochnyy-Enough  
> dovol'no lozh' - A pretty lie  
> Jebat moi lisiy cherep-Fuck my bald skull
> 
> A note about Dimas homophobia. He's not cured of it, but Fives conversation and the attempted gay bashing have busted and broken its foundations. It still exists, but it's crumbling. These things take time.
> 
> I really rushed to get this out in time, sorry for mistakes! Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Edit: I have gone through and fixed it up, huzzah!  
> If you're interested, you can read my '[About Me'.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515389)


	12. Hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I first produced my pistol/  
> And then produced my rapier/  
> I said, "stand and deliver"/  
> Or the devil he may take ya  
> -Whisky In The Jar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter, fire, threats of violence, blood.

It was evening. Wakefield was watching a show when she heard Dimas truck return. She was getting up when a bloody Five burst through the front door with Dima leaning on him, bleeding from his head.

“What happened?!” she said, then “Wait, I have to get the first aid kit.”

“Hold on.” Five rasped, carefully lowering Dima onto the sofa. Once his hands were free he signed [We saw some of Argons soldiers bashing a gay couple. We attacked them, they fought back. One of them is dead, the other one was arrested.]

“Shite.” Wakefield breathed. “Argon used to have soldiers in the police force...”

[They still do. We have to go. Grab whatevers most important, then we’ll go to the truck.]

Wakefield shook her head, reaching over to examine Dimas head. “I have to stop the bleeding, dress the wound.” Dima winced as she touched him, but also leaned into her hand. She smoothed a thumb over his eyebrow. “It’s all right...it’s all right love-”

Five tapped her on the arm and then signed. [There’s no time!] 

There was the sound outside, of multiple cars pulling up into the drive.

Five looked through the window, then cursed.

[It’s them. Get your coat, and let’s all get to the barn. NOW.]

Grabbing the first aid kit, Wakefield pulled on her coat and hat, and threw Dimas arm over her shoulder. The three of them ran to the barn, Dima staggering along between her and Five.  
She shut the door and threw the latch. Helping Five lower Dima onto an old straw bale, she peered through one of the cracks in the old walls.

Five tapped on her arm. [What do you see? And don’t speak, just sign.]

[See nothing. Wait. Three. Eight.]

[Eight men?]

[Yes. And guns.]

The men were walking towards the barn, spreading out.

[Doctor, I have to leave you and Dima okay? I think I can take some of them out.]

[By killing?]

[Yes. Better them than us. I’ll see you soon.]

And then Five..vanished in a blue flash.

“ _Zaebis’_...he did it again.” said Dima blearily. “Shhh shhh, stay quiet dear,” Wakefield said, putting a finger to her lips.

“He can really do that...I thought it was maybe glow sticks or.... smoke bomb.” Dima mumbled.

There was the sound of automatic guns going off and shouting...and screams. Wakefield looked to the door, then turned back to Dima.

“You have a concussion...did you see what hit you?”

Dima shook his head slowly, then winced. “No...I think..I was... kicked?”

Wakefield frowned as she felt his skull carefully. “There’s a lot of blood, but your skull seems intact.”

“ _Prosti_...this is my fault.” Dima mumbled.

“It’s not your fault.” she said firmly.

“No...it is...I...I kidnapped Five.”

Her blood froze. “I did it for Gagarin...for Argon. All my fault.”

She took the rubbing alcohol out of her kit. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“ _Prosti, prosti_...I am only...a disappointment.”

“We’ll talk later.”

There was a sudden silence. The only sound she could hear was the winter wind, howling through the cracks in the barn.

“ ‘The way is dark and getting darker.’ ” she whispered to herself. Dima chuckled softly “ ‘I wish you luck, there is none.’ ”

In the quiet, she heard the sudden crunch of a footstep in the snow...behind the barn. Her eyes widened.

“No-” she turned around, but too late. The back of the barn was broken open, and Argon soldiers poured through...along with a short, balding man wearing black leather gloves. Wakefield turned towards them, standing in front of Dima. The balding man frowned when he saw her, peering around her to see who she was shielding. He grinned widely when he saw Dima.

“[Ah...Dima my lost lamb.]”

“[Fuck you Gagarin.]” Dima muttered.

“[So much time and money wasted looking for you and that creature of yours.]”

Two of the men approached them, keeping them at gunpoint. They were both thrown to their knees, their hands zip-tied behind them. It was less then gentle, and Dima stifled a groan. Wakefield glared at Gagarin.

“[Leave him alone!]”

The man chuckled. “[Wait...I remember you...Andreyevs woman, yes?]” He laughed. "[I had thought you were dead!]"

“[Quite alive thank you very much. And I was never his woman.]” Wakefield said, then spat on the ground. Gagarin frowned, then chuckled. “[No wonder Dima came here, to see you-]”

“[Gagarin ...don’t.]” Dima said, his voice thick and choked. Gagarin laughed, looking from his former soldier to her.

“[You didn’t tell her? Oh how distressing...]”

Wakefield narrowed her eyes at him.

Gagarin bent down, putting himself at her eye level. “[Not surprising...that after all these years, you do not recognize your own son.]”

Wakefield looked at Dima, who lowered his head in shame. “[Not quite the reunion you wanted, eh Dima Andreyev?]” gloated the mob boss to his former soldier.

“[I’m sorry...]” said Wakefield. Gagarin turned back to her. “[But...was that supposed to be a surprise?]”

Gagarin blinked at her, so did Dima. “[He..told you?]”

She shook her head, smiling grimly. “ _Nyet_.”

_It was two days after the fight between Five and Dima. Wakefield had been sitting in the kitchen reading by herself, when apropos of nothing, Five walked in and sat down across from her.  
[Wakefied...I have something important to tell you, about Dima.] She’d frowned at him, but nodded.  
[Dima doesn’t want you to know this,] Five signed. [But he’s your son.]_

_"What?!" Wakefield started to stand up, but Five gently grabbed her arm.  
[He didn't just come here looking for a doctor, he came here for you.]  
Wakefield slowly sat back down, feeling shaken._

_[He hasn't told you because he's ashamed, and doesn’t want you to reject him. He was only fourteen when his father died. He had nowhere else to go. They brainwashed him with their twisted sense of honor and loyalty, tried to make him into an immoral killer. I'm not going to excuse the things he’s done. But he has a good heart.] Wakefield put a hand to her mouth, shaking her head as tears welled up in her eyes._

_[He only recently started reading your letters, and I’m pretty sure that was what motivated him to find you, but also to change. He's trying to be a better man, not just for your sake, but for his own as well. He put me in danger, but then he saved me. I don't think he would have done that if he was beyond hope.]_

_"He...oh." She started to cry._

_[Okay..I'm going to go out to the field and shoot now...I don’t know when he’ll tell you, he’s stubborn, like his mom.]  
She laughed and nodded, still crying.  
[Just give him time.]_

She smiled smugly at Gagarin. “[Everything bad in my life came from Andreyev...but everything good in my life...]” she turned towards Dima, her smile softening. “[Came from my son. My little miracle...my sunshine boy. While he has done things that I know are wrong, I see that he is changing, trying to make up for his past.]”

Dima was looking at her with something between shock and wonder. “[So you see Gagarin, Dima isn’t the son I expected...but I couldn’t be prouder of him.]” Dima smiled at her, a smile full of sunshine, and for one moment, everything was right with the world.

“[Then be proud of his corpse!]” Gagarin shouted, his face turning red as he stamped his foot like a toddler. One of the soldiers pulled Dimas head back by his hair, a knife at his throat.

“No! Leave him alone!” Wakefield struggled to get up, only to be pushed back onto her knees by one of the men.

“[Gagarin!]” a voice called from outside the barn. Five.

Gagarin eyes widened. “[Is that you _molokosos_?]” he shouted.

“[Your men are dead Gagarin! Let your traitor and the doctor go, and I won’t kill you as well!]”

“[If you were going to kill us, you would have already done it!]” shouted Gagarin. There was silence from outside the barn.

“[Come inside...perhaps we can..make an arrangement.]”

Dima shook his head. “No no no no no.” he whispered, over and over.

There was a pause, then a knife slid through the gap between front door and the latch, lifting it. The door swung open, and Wakefield gasped.

Five stood there, silhouetted in the doorway. His clothes were drenched in blood, he was covered in sweat and breathing heavily. Behind him were the corpses of Argon soldiers, their blood red against the snow. His hands were down at his sides, a bloody knife in one, and a gun in the other.  
He looked like something from a nightmare. An angel of death.

“Shit.” Wakefield said, blinking. Had Five really done all that?  
He paused there a moment, then walked into the barn, tucking the gun into the front of his waistband (a bit stupid and unsafe Wakefield thought), and throwing the knife to the ground.  
Dima winced. “[No...not for us...not for us _malen'kyi_.” he groaned.

Five cut his eyes towards them, then looked back to Gagarin. “[You’ve got what you want. Now...let them go.]”

Gagarin smiled, eager and greedy. He grabbed the gun from Five, chuckling as he tucked it into the front of his own trousers.

“[Not yet..]”

He nodded to his men, and Five was forced to his knees. Wakefield saw a flutter of his hands, and frowned. Was he afraid? Going into shock?  
It suddenly hit her. Of course, Five was signing to her.  
[Don’t worry. When I give the signal, I want you to scream FIRE. Loud as you can, all right?] She caught his eye and nodded. Five gave her a small smile, then looked back to Gagarin.  
The mobster had crouched down, smiling at him as he pulled off one of his gloves. The hand revealed was swollen and purple beneath a bandage, and Wakefield could smell it was infected. If she were his doctor, she might be discussing drastic measures.  
But since she wasn’t, he could go to hell.

“[Do you remember doing this little on?]”

Five smirked. “[Why? Were you hoping for a matching pair?]”

“[My doctor says if it gets any worse, it might have to come off. Little _tvar_..you are going to regret it.]”

Gagarin brought out a cigar and lit it. Five cringed, his eyes darting from Gagarin to the cigar and back again. The mobster chuckled, and Wakefield coughed. The smell of it was appalling.

“[What you did to Gregor was nasty. Very nasty. But no wonder, considering what he did to you.]”  
“[He died quicker than I would have liked.]” Five ground out. Gagarin gave the boy a toothy grin.

“[Do you dream of it? Your skin burning and melting, the smell of your flesh cooking. And how you screamed little one...how you screamed.]”

The smoke from the cigar filled her lungs, and Wakefield coughed again. “[Gagarin you honorless shit!]” Dima snarled.  
“[Leave him alone you bastard, he’s just a kid!]” Wakefield shouted, trying to get up and failing. As one of the soldiers pushed her down, she realised, that wasn’t just the cigar making her cough.  
The others hadn’t noticed it, but the barn was starting to smoke. Small white puffs were whisping across the straw covered floor.

God...Five had set the barn on fire!  
She tried to catch Dimas eye, but he was too focused on the boy. She breathed in and out through her nose. Wait for it..wait for the signal. Trust that Five knew what he was doing.

Gagarin ignored her, keeping his focus on Five. The boy licked his lips nervously as Gagarin smoked, creating a firey red tip at the end of his cigar. Wakefield thought she was going to be sick. She looked back at the men behind her and Dima, but they still had the guns pointed right at them. Looking to the side, she could see Dima pulling against the zip tie on his wrists, cutting into his skin, but unable to break them.  
Wait for Fives signal. Wait...

“[I won’t scream for you Gagarin. Never again.]” said Five.

Gargin smiled. “[We shall see.]” He stood, and pulled open Fives coat, revealing the gauze bandages on his neck. He ripped them off and inspected the burns with a critical eye.

“[Hmm...healing nicely.]” He reached out with the cigar towards the delicate skin. Wakefield saw Five clench both hands, the thumbs and little fingers extended.

[NOW]

“Fire!”Wakefield screamed. “Oh my god, the barn is on fire!” Everyone looked at her, then turned to the smoking walls.

“[Put it out, what the fuck do I pay you all for!]” Gagarin snarled at his men.

Which is when Five stood, quick as a flash, his arm lashing out. There was a loud ‘click’ sound.  
Gargin looked down, to see Fives hand on the trigger of the gun tucked down the front of the mobsters trousers.

“[Gun safety tip].” said Five conversationally. “[Never point your gun at things you aren’t willing to loose. Now let my friends go or you’ll be doing a very _very_ bloody impression of a Ken doll.”

He smiled. “ _Ponyatoy_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian for this chapter:  
> Zaebis’-Holy shit  
> Prosti - sorry  
> Molokosos -underage boy/milk sucker  
> tvar - creature  
> malen'kyi - little one  
> ponyatoy-understood, witness
> 
> Some ASL:  
> [Son](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=2022)  
> [Mother](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=1439)  
> [Ashamed](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=6122)  
> [Saved (rescued)](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=1878)  
> [Signal](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=4095)  
> [Now!](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=1521)  
> [Fire](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=799)
> 
> So who figured out that Wakefield was Dimas mom? I know some of you must have caught it for sure! :)  
> And yeah, she's probably pissed about Dima kidnapping Five, but now's not the time of course.  
> It suddenly occurred to me today that I was writing a platonic love story! I mean, it's all about people wanting platonic and or familial love. I'm such a sentimentalist, I swear.
> 
> So the next chapter will be up Friday Nov. 18th before 10am! Almost at the finish!
> 
> Thank you for reading, here's my [About Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515389) if you're interested.


	13. Finger On The Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy stood on the burning deck,  
> Whence all but he had fled;  
> The flame that lit the battle’s wreck,  
> Shone round him o’er the dead.  
> \- Casabianca by Felicia Hemans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter, fire, smoke, gore, castration (well that's a tag I never imagined I'd write!)

“[Cut them free!]” Gagarin babbles, his arms waving in the air, the cigar falling forgotten to the floor. His men hesitate, looking at each other, at the burning walls.

“[Now, now you idiots!]”

The soldiers cut the zip ties and when Dima stands, he nearly falls. The smoke is filling the room, and he feels like he is spinning, floating, but it is just Wakefield...his _mother_ picking him up and supporting him again. Five doesn’t look away from Gagarin, his finger steady on the trigger, the gun still pointed to Gagarins most prized possession.

“Five...”

“Dima..Wakefield...don’t worry about me.” he said cooly. “Everythings under control.”

He’s lying. He doesn’t plan on getting out. Stupid, selfless boy. It hurts his heart that Five does this for them, for him..for his mother.

“I wish you well.” said Five and Dima feels as though his heart were breaking.

“ _Bog s toboy, vseznayka_ ” Dima said, and was about to say more, then bit his lip. There is no time. 

“Come on Dima, we have to go.” said his mother gently, tugging on his arm. “Five....thank you.” Five nodded, giving her a small smile as they leave.

They stumble out of the barn together, walking jerkily over the snow, past the bloody corpses, until his foot finds a rabbit hole or something similar and he stumbles and falls. Dima looked back, and the smoke is filling the building, flames beginning to lick up the sides to create an unholy beacon in the dying light.

“We have to keep going Dima.” said his mother, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Please...I am Roland to you.” said Dima, and truly, he has more important things to worry about, but it seems like his heart is breaking open and everything is spilling out of it.

“I...yes of course Roland.” says his mother. His mother.

Five told her. He should be angry at him.  
Instead he grieves.

For the first time in twenty years, he feels tears stinging his eyes.

“I do not want this...it is not...” He swallows his words, the words of a child.  
_Tak ne chestno_  
“It isn’t fair is it...not after everything Five did for us.” said Wakefield, echoing what he was thinking.

Dima hung his head in sadness. “I only wish...there was someone here to help Five..to save him.”

Wakefields hand is on his shoulder. “I wish there was.” she says softly. And then. “Come on, we have to go.”

There is the sound of car doors slamming behind them, and the crunch of snow, and Wakefield swings around, a scalpel in her hand as she stands in front of him. Protecting him again.

“[Stay back!]”

“Is that a...scalpel? Hey, we’re being threatened with a scalpel guys!” said a voice he does not recognise. He looked up.

There are...people...in front of him. They are not mafia. They look more like....a circus. An enormous man with blond hair....a tall woman with long curly blonde hair and dark skin. A tiny woman, with long brown hair that spills out from under her winter cap. A dark skinned man with knives strapped to his chest, and another man with gentle eyes and long brown hair.

“[I said stay back!]” said Wakefield, and _bozhe moy_ it is strange and brave that she would think that she can fight off six people with a small scalpel. But that is the sort she is. 

“ _I heard a-_ ” said the tall woman as she steped forwards, then seems to change her mind. “I’m Alison, these are my brothers Diego, Klaus, and Luther, and my sister Vanya.”

“Alison? I...we spoke on the phone.” said Wakefield, blinking.

“Doctor Marta Wakefield, right? It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Alison holds out her hand, smiling, and his mother shakes it mechanically.

“You’re here for Five.” breathed Wakefield.

“Where is he?” said Alison.

“He’s...in the barn..”

“Oh right...the only thing around here on _fire_...yeah that figures.” said the one called Klaus.

“He is in standoff.” said Dima, trying to focus. “He has...man at gunpoint. He cannot leave, they will shoot.”

“Why doesn’t he Blink out?” said Alison.

“Blink?” said Wakefield.

“Ah...when he disappears and reappears somewhere else.”

“I’m not sure...” said Wakefield.

“Bet he’s tapped out.” says Diego, twirling a knife in his hand.

“He was trying to protect us.” Wakefield said, gesturing to her and Dima.

“Damnit Five.” Alison muttered.

“Always gotta be the hero.” Klaus said with a sigh. “Okay, who wants to kick this off? Vanya?”

The small woman shook her head. “My power isn’t going to help this situation...too much...hmm....wide area affect....”

“But you could use it to put the fire out.” Alison protested.

“Or I could collapse the whole barn, with Five in it.” answered Vanya, hunching her shoulders. “I don’t want to take that risk.”

“Hey, hey it’s okay Vanny, we’ll figure it out.” said Klaus, walking over to give her a hug. “What if Luther went in and grabbed him? He’s kinda bullet proof?”

“ ‘Kinda’?” said Luther, wrinkling his brow. “More bullet resistant. And who’s to say Five still won’t get shot as well?”

“You need....distraction.” Dima says. “Distract...disarm...”

“Yeah, exactly.” said Diego, pointing a knife at Dima. “Distract and disarm, like the guy said.”

“What about...hey Klaus, are there any ghosts around?” said Alison.

Klaus gave Dima a strange look, then turned back to the others. “Yeah....” he drawls. “There’s a few.”

“Okay, so here’s what we do-” But Dima doesn’t hear the rest. He is so tired all of the sudden. He closed his eyes and fell into blessed darkness.

Five knows he’s going to die.

That’s okay. He was always living on borrowed time anyway. And if he gets to shoot this sick bastard in the balls on his way out, even better. Gagarin is sweating and furious, hissing threats at him while his soldiers keep their guns on him, but Five’s reached a, well...a zen kinda place where he doesn’t give a shit about all this. Finger on the trigger, that’s all that matters.  
For the third or forth time, he tries to Blink away, and fails. That’s okay. That’s expected.

He hopes his family forgives him for leaving them like this. But the apocalypse(s) have been averted, his brothers and sisters are all together and (mostly) working it out. It’ll be fine. They’re still so young, so _painfully_ young and full of promise that it makes his heart ache to look at them, and he’s just old, old and tired and if he can go out saving some friends of his, well, so be it.  
Now that he thinks of it, Dima and Marta are probably his first friends who weren’t Pogo or his family. Well...or Delores, god bless her, though there might have been a bit of Stockholm Syndrome there. It’s definitely the first time he’s put himself in danger for someone who wasn’t family. Maybe that means something...or maybe he’s just a sentimental old fool who likes bedtime stories.

The smoke stings his eyes and his healing throat, and the heat from the fire is painful on his skin, but that’s okay. Finger on the trigger, keep them here as long as you can, as long as it takes Dima and Wakefield to escape.

Once he shoots Gagarin (which he is absolutely going to do, he's been looking forwards to it), the man in the corner will probably shoot him, followed by the man off to the side before he himself gets shot. He figures he can kill two more and maim another before he’s too fucked up to keep going. Make them pay for it, make them work for it. They’ll know they were in a fight-

He frowned. There’s something...blue...coming through one of the walls. He tries to see it through the smoke...and realises it’s a hand.  
It’s a ghost hand.

And Five feels the terrible bite of hope in his chest.  
Those years alone, he’d always tried not to hope. He’d slain hope, and wiped his bloody blade upon its beard, because hope can kill you faster than anything else. But coming back to his family....that had renewed it.

Because that’s what hope is....his family. Somehow his family is here to save him. Those beautiful idiots.

“[What the fuck are you grinning at?]” Gagarin sneered at him.

“Oh it’s funny...” said Five, chuckling and coughing. “There’s someone behind you.”

“[You stupid shit! Did you truly think that I would-”

Gagarin never finished his sentence because the ghost behind him ripped his head in half with the brutal strength of the undead. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.

Five stood, watching as several more of Klaus's ghosts appear and reduce the rest of the mafia men to bloody shreds. It’s brutal and barbaric, without artistry or style. But who cares? He’s alive. His friends are alive, and his family is here.

He turned towards the barn entrance.

“Oh...right.” he said to himself, coughing. The entrance is covered in flame and smoke, the heat intense. He’d probably get second degree burns going out that way. He sighed, then steeled himself...

Only for him to see Luther jump through the fire into the barn. Five stared at him in disbelief as he patted out a few flames on his jacket.

“What are you, an idiot? Why the fuck are you jumping into a burning building?!?” he screamed at him, then coughed sharply.

“Well I think I’m the one saving the idiot who set fire to the burning building.” Luther answered back, giving him a small smug smile.

“...Touché.” He looked around to where Gagarins body is. “Gimmie a sec.” he said, holding up a finger.

“Five!” protests Luther. But Five is already walking over to the now headless body. He fires, twice, into the family jewels. It’s the principle of the thing.

“Okay, ready now.”

“Wanna tell me what that was all about?” Luther huffed, but his eyes look gentle.

“Maybe later.” Five rasped, shaking his head.

“I’m going to pick you up now, and we’ll get out of here, all right?” said Luther. Five shrugged, as if the whole place wasn’t falling down around them. “Fine. Just...watch the arm, it’s still healing.”

“Got it.” said Luther, and wrapped Five in a tight embrace before leaping back out, just as the barn roof collapses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian for this chapter:  
> tak ne chestno - it's not fair  
> Bog s toboy - God be with you  
> vseznayka- wise guy/smart alec  
> Bozhe moy!-Oh my goodness!
> 
> Hey look, it's The Umbrella Academy, whaaaat? I have to say, I had fun writing them <3
> 
> Why did Five shoot a corpse in the genitals? Well Five follows through with things, that's just his way.
> 
> 'I wish you well.' this is a variation of Princess Ceralinda from 'The Thirteen Clocks' saying 'I wish him well'. She's under a spell so whenever she's in the presence of the evil duke, that's all she can say. So Five saying this is his way of saying goodbye in this instance.
> 
> Argh, I just realised I never wrote Five getting the cast off his arm! Well, off I go to edit : /
> 
> Only one chapter left! Sorry this one is so short.  
> Thank you for reading! Leave a comment if you're enjoying this.
> 
> LAST chapter is up Sunday Nov. 20th before 10am EST.


	14. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a boy/  
> A very strange, enchanted boy/  
> They say he wandered very far/  
> Very far, over land and sea/  
> -Nature Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for discussions of past torture and violence

Five has to say (though never out-loud) that he loves his family, but this _clingyness_ of theirs can be a more than a bit annoying. He had to practically fight Luther for the idiot to put him down.

His siblings rushed over to him and he held up his hands, stopping them.

[Hug later] he signs. [Where’s Dima and the doctor?]

“Over here.” said Wakefields voice. She’s sitting next to Dima on the ground, and Five rushed over. He crouched down, looking at the mans bloody face.

[How is he?]  
“Some cuts from the zip ties, but it's the concussion of his is that I'm worried about... if we can get him more than first aid, he should be fine.”

“I’ve got a director friend of mine over the border.” said Alison. “He has a permanent hotel room we can use, I think.”

[Sounds good. Okay, Luther, there’s a truck in the driveway, get him and the doctor settled there.]

All he wants is a cup of coffee and a warm bed, but he still has questions that need answers.

[Why are you all here?]

“Well...after the phone, call, we were worried about you.” said Diego.

“Especially Diego.” Klaus interrupts in a sing-song voice.

“No!” Diego said defensively. “I know Five can take care of himself.”

[That’s right.] Five signs. [But thanks anyway. You were right in the nick of time.]

“Yeah...it was the weirdest thing.” Alison said. “We were planning on coming later, but a cheaper flight opened up early.”

“With a first class upgrade, we couldn’t say no!” said Klaus jovially.

“The roads were really clear, we just sped along...” said Diego, making a ‘woosh’ motion with his hand.

“And this really nice old man knew where Doctor Wakefield lived.” Vanya finished up.

Five turned all this over in his mind. He looked back at the truck, where Wakefield and Luther are getting Dima settled.

[Well lucky me.] he signed.

“Hey, what’s with the signing?” said Diego, concerned. “I’m trying to keep up, but it’s been years.”

“Years since I made you all learn it.” said Klaus smugly.

“Yeah, who knew a broken jaw would make a scholar out of you?” said Alison, smiling fondly, then looked at Five.

“Seriously Five....why signing?” said Vanya.

Five tried to speak, coughed, then tried again. “Damaged vocal chords.” he rasped out.

His brothers and sisters looked at him, eyes narrowed, and he knows they’ll be talking later. Or so they think. Five isn’t about to volunteer that information.

[I gotta sit down.] he signed, and did so. He’s tired...the adrenaline rush fading. He can feel all his hurts, the heaviness in his chest from all the smoke, a pain in his old burns where some of them split open, how his right arm aches.

“Five...what’re those.” said Alison, pulling back his jacket to look at his neck. He brushed her hand away, zipping up the jacket.

[Just some burns, it’s nothing.]

“Cigar burns.” said Klaus and Diego at the same time. They both looked at each other, then back to Five.

“They tortured him.” said a voice behind them. His siblings look at Wakefield, then back to him.

“Beat him half to death and then tortured him, because he was killing scum. If my son hadn’t rescued him,” and there’s pride in her voice at that. “He’d be dead.”

[Narc.] Five signs. [Well now we’re even.] Wakefield signs back, a slight smile on her face.

His siblings are looking at him, with anger, sadness, and concern in their eyes. Diego looked back at the doctor.  
“They?”

Wakefield nodded the burning wreck behind them. “The ones in there.”

Diego looked to Klaus, his eyes hard. “I hope they died slow.” Klaus shrugged nervously, and then Diego knelt down, looking at Five. “Hey...can I hug you?” Five shook his head _yes_ and Diego is hugging him like he’s going to disappear, inspite of all the blood on him, and then there’s Klaus, and Alison, and Vanya, and Luther all of the sudden. And Five....fought to keep his composure. He’s a grown man...he’s not going to cry because his family came for him, because they’re holding him tight in their arms, telling him that it’s okay, that he’s safe.

[Don’t be like that. I’m fine now, aren’t I?] he signs, and Vanya takes his right hand and kisses it and now he does cry. Cries as if he’s purging poison from his soul, cries as if it could wash away all of the hurts he’s suffered. He _is_ safe...safe here in the circle of their arms. His family...his beautiful idiots. Who he missed more than he knew. Who got here just in time.

“Hey!” Diego yelled to Wakefield. “You’re the one who patched him up, right?”

Wakefield had been standing awkwardly to the side, and she nodded. “Well get in here doc!” he said, and she’s messily folded into the group hug.

Eventually, they all pull back a bit. “You said you were looking for someone...” asked Vanya. “Did you find them?”

Five wiped the last of his tears away with his hand. [Him.] he signed. [I had to kill a lot of Russian mafios, but I found him eventually.]

“Who?”

And Five can’t help the sly smile that spreads across his face. It was a lot of work to get to this point. Chasing rumours and hearsay to the Argon mafia, finding only ruthless men who’d be better off dead. He’d been kidnapped, beaten...he’s going to enjoy his reveal after all the work and trouble he’s gone through. Five pointed to the truck, to the unconscious Dima inside. [Him.]

Dima opened his eyes, and frowned up at the ceiling. He is not in the sunshine guest room...he is...somewhere he does not know. The ceiling over him is a cream colour, plaster with little decoration.

Someone tapped him on the arm. He turns his head and there’s Five. Wakefied...his mother, is dozing on a overstuffed chair nearby. Five is wearing a copy of that uniform he met him in, but clean and new, reading a Finnish newspaper. The boy noticed him watching. He smiled, putting down the paper, then wrote in his notepad.

HOW’RE YOU FEELING?

“Thirsty...” Dima sat up, and then lay back down again as the room feels as if it is spinning. “Dizzy.”  
Five picked up a pitcher nearby and poured him a glass of water, handing it to him.

UNSURPRISINGLY, YOU HAVE A CONCUSSION. JUST TAKE IT EASY FOR A FEW DAYS.

He looked at Five as he sipped his water. “You are all right? Wakef -my mother is well?” he turned his head to look at her.

I’M FINE. A LITTLE SMOKE INHALATION, AND THE THROAT GOT A LITTLE HURT FROM THE SMOKE BUT OTHERWISE I’M OKAY. AND YOUR MOTHER IS FINE, JUST TIRED.

He noticed that the cuts from the zip ties on his wrists are bandaged, and he is in pajamas, cool and comfortable. The bed he’s lying in is large and soft, the pillow crisp and soothing under his head.

“What is this place?”

A VERY VERY EXPENSIVE HOTEL ROOM. WELL ROOMS TECHNICALLY. COURTESY OF MY SISTER ALISONS DIRECTOR FRIEND. HE DOES SOME ARTSY FINNISH STUFF, APPARENTLY.

Five looked over at Wakefield, then wrote:

SHE WANTED TO CHECK UP ON YOU, BUT SHE FELL ASLEEP. SHE’S BEEN PLAYING POKER WITH MY SIBLINGS.

He smiled, then wrote.

HAS TO BE THE MOST OUTRAGEOUS CHEATER I’VE KNOWN.

Dima snorted, smiling. “Not surprised.”

Five paused, then wrote again.

THAT NOTE IN MY POCKET. I WANT TO TELL YOU. WHEN I CAME TO RUSSIA I WAS LOOKING FOR SOMEONE. I THOUGHT THEY WERE IN ENGLAND, BUT IT WAS RUSSIA.

Dima nodded, frowning.

THAT WAS BECAUSE THEY WERE FROM ENGLAND, BUT IMMIGRATED TO RUSSIA WITH THEIR PARENTS.

He hesitated, then wrote.

IT WAS YOU.

“ _Kakiye!_? Why?!?”

DIMA. YOUR MOTHER.

He stopped.

THIS IS GOING TO SOUND INCREDIBLY STRANGE. BUT YOU HAVE POWERS.

“... _Chush' sobach'ya. Ty shutish'_ ”

THIRTY YEARS AGO, THERE WERE KIDS BORN SUDDENLY ON OCTOBER 1st 1989. THEY ALL HAD POWERS. WE ALWAYS THOUGHT WE WERE THE ONLY ONES, BUT RECENTLY WE FOUND OUT THAT WE WEREN’T. WE DON’T KNOW HOW MANY THERE ARE, BUT WE’VE BEEN LOOKING. WE FOUND YOU.

“But..what powers? I do not have...I cannot do what you do.” Dima protested.

YOU FOUND ME WHEN NO-ONE ELSE IN ARGON COULD. YOUR MOTHER WAS STILL LIVING AT THE SAME ADDRESS ON HER LETTERS TO YOU. THAT GAY COUPLE JUST ‘HAPPENED’ TO CATCH GREGORS EYE.  
YOUR MOTHER SAID THAT YOU MADE A WISH, AND SUDDENLY, MY FAMILY WAS HERE.

Dima turned the thought slowly around in his head. “I have...a wishing power?”

PROBABLY MORE LIKE A LUCK POWER. IT’S SOMETHING YOU’LL HAVE TO BE CAREFUL WITH. YOU SHOULD PROBABLY TALK TO MY SISTER ALISON ABOUT IT.

Dima thought of how he had wanted Gregor not to see them, and because of it, two young men could have died. He swallowed, and nodded.

Five stood up. THE GOOD NEWS IS, YOU’RE NOT ALONE. COME WITH US TO BACK TO THE ACADEMY, FOR A WHILE. YOU CAN LEARN THERE, REST, RECUPERATE.

“...Perhaps.”

YOU COULD BRING WAKEFIELD. THE TWO OF YOU SHOULD HAVE TIME TO GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER. I’M GOING TO GO GET SOME BRUNCH WITH MY SIBLINGS IN THE DINING ROOM. YOU SHOULD GET UP AND HAVE SOMETHING TO EAT SOON. ASSUMING YOU FEEL LIKE IT?

“ _Da_ , thank you.”

Five gently shook his mother awake. She looked up at him sleepily as he signed something, then left the room. His mother smiled, and stood leaning over the bed.

“How’re you feeling? Would you like to sit up?”

“I am tired, but well.” he said, trying to sit up again. She helped him, stuffing pillows behind his head until his is comfortable.

So,” she said. “Five tells me...you have some kind of power? Like the rest of his family?”

Dima nodded. “So he has told me...”

He hesitated. “Am I....is it true?”

Wakefield nods and shruged “ Andreyev and I...we tried for children, but...nothing came of it. On October 1st I started the day normally, and then suddenly, I was pregnant.” she smiled. “And giving birth! It was quite a shock! But a very welcome surprise,” her smile faded. “To me at least. Andreyev never accepted you...he said you must be a freak, to be born like that. Or that somehow I cheated on him. He wanted to give you up, but I wouldn’t let him. It was the only time I stood up to him.”

Dima shook his head. “I am sorry....that I did not grow up with you. I missed.” he choked, tears welling up. “So much.”

His mother kissed his hand, smiling through her own tears. “We have time now Roland...we have time.”  
They cry a little over each other then, both sadness and joy mixed.

“I think..” Dima said, once they have collected themselves. “That I will go with Five and his family back to America. I would like it if you came with me.”

“That would be nice!” she said. “I think I’m due for a vacation. Brunch is in the next room, if you feel like joining us?”

“I think I would like that...in a moment.”

She stood up, nodding. “Don’t be too long though, or I’m going to finish the croissants.”

They shared a chuckle, and then she leaves.

And then he is alone. Dima rubbed his face with his hands, and noticed that his hair is getting longer again.  
A power. He has a power. Not one like Fives, but he has one. One that he had been using all his life, and not knowing. And now he had to learn it...somehow.  
The idea is terrifying...and.. _soblaznitel'nyy_.

“ _Ya sdelayu eto_.” he said to himself, nodding.  
He would put his faith in Five, the boy who had saved his life, and changed it forever. To meet and come to know his strange family. To finish reading the letters his mother had sent him.  
To change....to become someone better than he was.

A little unsteady on his feet, Dima arrived at the dining room. Fives brothers are there, Luther, Diego, and Klaus. Alison and Vanya are there too. They are all laughing at something outrageous his mother has said. As he enters, they turn and look at him, curious, interested.  
Five, who had been standing in the corner, walked over to the table, smiling at him.

The smaller sister, Vanya pushes a chair out for him, smiling shyly. “There’s room at the table for you, if you want.”

Dima considers it...then smiling back, he takes the chair and sits down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian for this chapter:
> 
> Kakiye!-What!  
> Ty shutish'-You have to be kidding me  
> chush' sobach'ya-bullshit  
> soblaznitel'nyy-seductive, enticing  
> ya sdelayu eto-I will do this
> 
> ASL:  
> [Narc](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KNqijg87yU)  
> [Sit](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=1978)  
> [Fine](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=793)  
> Found
> 
> That's it, the final chapter! Thank you all for coming on this ride with me, I haven't written so much in a very very long time, and I'm grateful for all the kudos and comments! ^_^ And my second reveal, Dima is one of the forty three kids!  
> I think I got a bit carried away, writing the Hargreeves sibs, but just like Five, I missed them. I should do a story with them sometime soon.  
> This is the end of this story, but I have other thoughts for this world and they'll be coming along sooner or later. I hope you'll like those too.
> 
> Here's my [About Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515389) if you're interested.
> 
> Take care! <3


End file.
